


being a survivor (stay alive)

by littlekoroleva



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex needs a hug, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Childhood Trauma, Designated Survivor AU, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Politics, President Alexander Hamilton, aka alex trying to govern while eliza make sure he doesn’t get impeached, also angelica trying to not strangle the press, idk don’t ask me, major character death because washington, there’s a traitor in the white house, who?? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlekoroleva/pseuds/littlekoroleva
Summary: During every State of the Union, a government official is taken to an undisclosed location. In the event of a catastrophic attack on our government, resulting in the decapitation of the president along with the vice president and multiple other officials in the presidential line of succession, they will rise up as the new President. In practice, they are usually a member of the president's Cabinet, and is chosen by the president himself.They are known as the designated survivor.Or,Treasury Secretary Alex Hamilton finds himself inheriting the entire United States government after an attack at the Capitol killed everyone ahead of him in the presidential succession.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Comments: 71
Kudos: 110





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [whatever it is, jefferson started it](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8309056) by [Sanna_Black_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin). 



> What happens you watch too much Designated Survivor and House of Cards.

**_ACT I - THE SURVIVOR_ **

**__** _“Never throughout history has a man who lived a life of ease left a name worth remembering.” —Theodore Roosevelt_

They would make a peculiar sight were it for anyone else; for one, the Secretary of the Treasury of the United States were wrestling with the White House Communications Director on a couch. Two, both were clad in matching hoodies and sweatpants that were covered with popcorns. And three, there were two Secret Service agents posted just behind them, by the door, and both looked as though they would have ditched their duties a long time ago if it’s not for the free entertainment of watching two government officials screech at each other over buttered exploded corn.

Alas, this was the kind of life she led now.

“I swear if you try— _Alexander, no_ ,” Eliza swatted Alex’s hand away. “What did I say? You got your own bowl. It’s not my fault you finished yours.”

Alex pouted, and Eliza felt equally part smitten and murderous. While pondering over her dilemma, his eyes locked on his target. Before she could avoid it, he took the opportunity to dunk his hand into her bowl. She screeched again. He grinned, clutching the prized items to his chest and dumping it into the makeshift bowl formed by his hoodie.

Alex burrowed himself at his corner of the couch. “Disgusting,” Eliza hissed, her right arm curling protectively over her bowl, away from her partner’s reach. Said partner just winked, crowing with delight around his stolen popcorn.

He turned around on his spot on the couch. “Ye’ wan’ some?” Alex mumbled with his mouth full. At the food lolling in his mouth, Eliza scrunched her nose.

The corner of Tallmadge’s mouth twisted in what almost resembled a smile. “We’re not allowed to eat on duty, sir,” he replied dutifully, just as beside him Meade said, “Yeah, sure.”

Alex flicked a popcorn at the latter. Meade caught it in his mouth with a grin at Tallmadge’s glare. Alex snickered. “None for you Mr. Goody Two Shoes.”

Tallmadge huffed. Part of it was probably his insubordinate agent, and the other his insufferable protectee. A smile crept up involuntarily on Eliza’s face when Alex stuck his tongue out at Tallmadge. The agent replied with a look of reproval, probably faced this almost everyday at this point, being the President’s head of security detail. Given that the two worked closely, and Alex’s habit of abusing the use of the underground tunnel connecting the Treasury building and the White House, he often saw Tallmadge. She knew that at this point President Washington should have confiscated Alex’s White House security card, but the man showed clear favouritism at Alex, and Eliza can’t say she minds. All the better to see Alex more during work.

“Okay now you’re just being a brat,” she poked him in the side as he jumped away from her fingers.

“Yeah, but I’m your brat.” He winked, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips.

“Sappy,” she rolled her eyes, though her lips still tugged into a smile, “Now where’s the remote?”

As he searched for the remote between the pillows, Eliza sighed and melted into the couch. It was hectic this past week, managing the State of the Union, what with the press and the media to think about. Being the Deputy Press Secretary, Angelica too bore the brunt of it along with her. With reaching the media and the press releases and making sure nothing goes wrong (it always does), she was grateful to have this one evening off. She could feel the ache in her feet from dashing between the halls of the West Wing for 10 hours a day.

_“I’m apparently the designated survivor for SOTU this year,”_ Alex had suddenly appeared that morning, a wild grin on his face as he leaned on her desk, blocking her view of the computer. Eliza looked up, her eyes as dry as the desert made themselves known when exposed to the air from staring at the screen for hours, forgoing sleep that night. She must've looked horrendous because Alex grimaced as he continued distractingly, _“And, uh, Washington said I could bring you with me.”_

_“Oh, thank God,”_ she had closed her eyes and let her forehead fall on her desk with a thump. Alex winced.

“Found it,” Alex declared, flipping the remote in his hand. He flicked through the channels on the television mounted in front of them. She settled against his side, letting her eyes lazily watch him trying to find C-SPAN.

“You think POTUS will kill it tonight?”

“Of course he will slay it. I wrote the speech.”

Eliza sniffed. Of course. The White House could hire any speechwriter in the northern hemisphere but the President would still prefered Alex’s writings. Not to mention Alex still had the Treasury to worry about. (But she knows he never minded, in fact, he revels in the fact.)

She propped her feet on the low table then buried her head into his shoulder. Alex settled back too once he found C-SPAN, and they sat there silently in each other’s company, relishing the moment of peace while the TV played in the background. Even the two Secret Service agents had settled themselves on a table, a card game spread out between them.

On screen, the occupants of the chamber roared as everyone rose up from their seats when Washington entered, Martha glowing and smiling by his side.

Soon enough the President took his place on the podium and started his address. She watched it all with a haze, sleep pulling down on her eyelids as she fought to stay awake. Alex seemed alert and giddy though, occasionally rising up a little every time a statement of his received standing applause. And everytime Eliza would pull him back down, missing her warm pillow.

“Okay, okay, hear this,” he nudged her not gently with his eyes fixed to the screen, and she glared up at him groggily at being disturbed again. “No, just hear this one!”

She reluctantly focused on the screen, and beside her Alex rattled softly to himself from memory, “Change will not come if we wait for some other person or another time.” Eliza glanced at him and rolled her eyes, amused at the bright twinkle in his eyes. “We’re the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.”

_“And change will not come if we wait for some other person or another time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for,”_ Washington echoed on screen. _“We are the change that we seek.” 1_

The audience _roared_ , and laughter escaped her lips when Alex was positively _beaming_ at the standing ovation. To be fair, it was amazing. Even John Adams stood up for that one, and he’s a self-centered prick. Alex snuffled happily, smug as he leaned back when on-screen Washington looked very pleased at the reaction, the corner of his lips tugging into a smile.

Eliza huffed a laugh again and looked up at Alex. “Well, someone’s going to have a very good mood tomorrow mor—”

Loud static filled the room. Eliza whipped her head back to see the screen filled with static. The smile has dropped off Alex’s face. “Huh, that’s weird.”

He clicked the remote and flicked through the other channels to see that the others were functioning perfectly well, and their TV was not broken. Alex clicked back to C-SPAN to still see static. There’s ruffling behind them, the agents muttering urgently among themselves. Alex’s phone rang. The couch shifted as he rose to take it, and Eliza sat up, confused. She looked around the room. The agents were on their feet, talking into their communicators. Alex was still on his call, a deep frown etched on his face. She tried to take Alex’ attention. He did not notice her.

Her phone lit up on the coffee table. She snatched it.

_**From: angie:)** _

**__** _eliza did yours cut out too?_

_(21:27)_

**_From: angie:)_ **

**__** _where are you now??_

_(21:27)_

Halfway into typing a reply, Meade went up to her and spoke, “Ma’am, you’ll need to put the phone down.”

Confusion must be evident on her face as she dumbly replied, “What? Why?”

The door slammed open loudly and she jumped, head whipping. A dozen more Secret Service agents spilled into the room, making quick work of overturning and emptying their backpacks and her bag, taking everything—Alex’s laptop, their work Blackberry, her iPad—

“You really need to give your phone to me now.”

Her brows raised up as she backed away from Meade, eyes darting around the room. “What is—” Her phone rang loudly. It was Angelica.

“Put your phone down, Ma’am,” another agent showed up and snatched her phone before turning it off and plopping it into a clear bag.

“Wait! I need to take the call. Please.”

Her cries went ignored. The agent tossed the bag into a briefcase alongside with their other electronics. The others were making quick work around the room, searching and overturning everything. Meade nudged her back, pushing her towards the door. “Let’s go, Ma’am.”

Somewhere in the room Tallmadge spoke up. “Mr. Secretary, give me your phone. We need to go. Now.”

She planted her feet on the ground. She knows it is bad when Tallmadge resorted to formal titles. When her gaze found Alex, Meade’s urgent pleading tuned out.

Tallmadge was talking, almost shouting, to Alex. He did not appear to register it, frozen in the centre of the chaos. His knuckles were white where they clutched his phone against his ear. His mouth gaped slightly, his eyes glassy.

Her heart was thumping against her chest as she made her way to him, making no mind shrugging off Meade’s hand on her shoulder. She grazed Alex’s arm when she got there, muttering, “Alex?”

Something snapped in his mind. Alex dropped his phone, it cluttered harmlessly on the carpet as he stumbled blindly past Tallmadge towards the window— _“Mr. Secretary, step away from the window!”_ —and yanked the curtains wide open.

A painful gasp tore out of her throat. The agents froze in their work, entranced with the horrific view. Where there should be a view of the Capitol building was instead a huge blazing mushroom cloud, the entire city illuminated with its fiery glow. It seemed to have sucked the building whole to its core, before spitting debris out from the top. Blood pulsing through her ears, before a sound from the TV came through.

_“This just came in, an attack was reported on the Capitol. We still don’t know the exact detail…”_

“We gotta move now,” Tallmadge recovered swiftly, pulling Alex from the window, “This way, Mr. Secretary.”

Meade was gentler this time ‘round as he nudged her towards the exit, shellshocked as they were out the room and down into the street. Then she was in a motorcade with Alex, all shifty eyes and sweaty palms. Still, Alex took hold of her hand and squeezed it, and it was all she could do to not squeeze the blood out of his. Ambulances and firetrucks and police cars all went their opposite direction, speeding past their windows in lights of blues and reds. Meade and Tallmadge flanked their sides, suffocating her further.

“We’re on our way with Lion and Lace to the White House,” Tallmadge reported into his watch. _The White House?_ Eliza’s eyes widened as she found Alex’s. He just gnawed on his lip, shaking his head. _Not now._

“Prepare for our arrival,” Tallmadge ordered further, “We would be there—what?”

Alex immediately took a hold of Tallmadge’s sleeve when he abruptly stopped talking into his communicators, a dazed look dawning on his face. “Ben, what happened?”

“Oh my God,” the agent exhaled instead, and Eliza could feel her heart plummet into her stomach. Meade, apparently hearing the same thing through his in-ears cursed silently.

Alex’s eyes widened further, and she could see him shaking as he barked again, “Tell me!”

The two agents exchanged glances over them. “I—no one survived,” Meade was the first to speak. “Congress, the cabinet…”

Alex visibly trembled, his shoulders slumping at the suggestion of…

Eliza squeezed his hand as she braved herself to ask, hating herself at the waver in her voice, “The President?”

Tallmadge kept her eye contact as he nodded slowly. “ _The General_ is confirmed dead.”

_Washington_. “No,” she heard Alex whisper.

“We are enacting the continuity of government,” Meade added. He paused for a moment, before confirming Eliza’s thoughts. “Sir, you are now President of the United States.”

He was hyper aware of his surroundings by the time they were ushered into the familiar cramped halls of the West Wing. The scene slowly unfolded in his sight; phones ringing, way more than what they would’ve expected at this hour, someone was sobbing. White House staffers were frozen in front of the TV, currently showing the overhead view of the Capitol dome collapsing onto itself.

A girl sobbed violently at the view as another staffer dashed to console her. “No, _Mike_ ,” she cried out as the other whispered in her ears, and Alex looked away, feeling like an intruder in the scene.

A covered hand grabbed his own, and he turned to Eliza with wide eyes. She cocked her head ahead, where Tallmadge waited with a small crowd who he recognised as some of Washington’s senior staff. Alex hesitated in his steps at the sight, and Eliza muttered, “It’s okay. You should go.”

“Do you need to join them?” He whispered back, catching sight of Angelica and Aaron deep in discussion.

She followed his line of sight, brows raised before she shook her head slowly. “Not if you need me,” she phrased it as a question.

“Yeah,” he gulped audibly, forcing his legs towards Tallmadge. The crowd parted as he made his way there, Eliza in his tow, still gripping his hand. He became terribly conscious of their clothing among the staff in dress shirts and proper dresses.

_“Shit, is that Alex Hamilton?”_

_“He’s alive!”_

_“How is he here? I mean, no offense, but—”_

“Alright, people, make way,” Aaron shoved through. His hand reached out to hold Alex’s forearm in a death grip, and Alex winced. “Perhaps tone down the confused puppy dog eyes,” Aaron gritted out, leading him towards the centre of the circle formed around them.

Alex’s brows raised in confusion before he blinked back at Aaron’s glare. “I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve this, but you’re all we got right now. At least try and look presidential,” Aaron said, then looked at Alex’s outfit up and down. Alex tugged down on his hoodie sleeves, suddenly insecure in the presence of Aaron’s immaculate appearance. The other man just shook his head, gripped his shoulders, then pulled them back, earning a yelp from Alex. “Where are your brazen head when we need them,” he muttered before letting Alex go with a firm slap on his back.

“Mr. President,” a lady emerged, a Bible gripped in her hand. It took him a few embarrassing moments before he realised she was addressing him, and he nodded before Aaron could kick his shoes. “Anytime you’re ready, sir.”

Alex blinked as he noticed a cameraman to the judge’s right, and another holding an audio recorder. He frowned, his mouth opening for a retort as he turned towards Aaron before his eyes caught sight of John towards the back of the room.

John raised his brows when Alex sent him a look that said, ‘ _please help!’_. The man instead just shrugged and offered him a small smile with a nod, cocking his head towards the judge, who was very patiently staring at Alex.

Alex sighed, then turned to the lady with a solemn nod. At the confirmation, the appellate judge smiled encouragingly as she turned to Eliza, holding out the bible to her. “Ma’am, do you want to hold the bible?”

Eliza looked like she was about to throw up. Still, she hastily took the bible without a word and stiffly held it out for him.

“Please place your right hand on the Bible, sir.”

He looked up again at John. The other nodded grimly. Alex exhaled shakily and peered down at the Bible. With a count of three, he placed a trembling hand on it.

“Repeat after me,” the judge carried on, “I, Alexander James Hamilton do solemnly swear—”

“ _I, Alexander James Hamilton do solemnly swear—_ ”

The crowd surrounding them grew larger in the last five seconds. Alex noticed some looked at him with sorrow, some with contempt.

“—that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States—”

A camera flashed somewhere.

“ _—that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States—_ “

Eliza’s hands gripped the Bible tighter.

“—and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

“ _—and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States._ ” He finished it all in one breath, feeling way too light-headed. He exhaled, “ _So help me God_.”2

The judge nodded, taking back the bible. She took his hand in a handshake, gripping like life support.

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Presidential address in 20 minutes, Eliza and Angelica want it done pronto,” John briefed him on their way to the Situation Room, expertly dodging other swift staffers. “We’ll be live by then, so as much as I wanna settle this security issue by tonight, we’ll have to make do. Just don’t dally too long on one department, they’ll feel spoiled and will drag this on and on and I don’t wanna get castrated by the demonic sisters.”

So this was what Washington felt everyday. Alex was spinning in his head with the information overload, only now has he been on the receiving end of his friends’ so called ‘work mode talking’. Angelica had already rambled to him earlier about _don’t go off-script, Alex,_ and _do as Eliza and I say, Alex,_ and when he had raised a timid hand, she went _no, you can’t voice out your opinions, Alex_.

“Can I—”

“No, you can’t have free thoughts.”

Which was in his opinion, an obstruction against freedom of speech. But before he could voice out his opinions John had dragged him away, for which Alex was secretly grateful. Perhaps this was why they could handle his rants, he supposed. This is basically what they do for a living.

“We should meet Aaron here,” John said as they stopped in front of the elevator. He turned to Alex, grinning cheekily. “ _Mr. President._ ”

Alex elbowed him square in the stomach, and John groaned loudly as he doubled down in pain, earning curious looks from people around them.

“I’ll cut off your dick if you call me that again,” he drawled as the elevator door pinged open, revealing a very horrified Aaron Burr.

“Please don’t say stuff like that on national TV,” Aaron pleaded as John and Alex stepped into the elevator and pushed the button to go down.

“Can’t make promises we can’t keep, now can we?” Alex grinned at an attempt of humour. Aaron let out a sigh.

“What do you mean? We’re in DC,” John replied cheekily. “They’re the only kind of promises we can make.”

Alex snickered and Aaron rolled his eyes in response, but interestingly didn’t deny the statement. “At the very least don’t wear _that_ on national TV.” Aaron eyed Alex’s hoodie and sweatpants with distaste. “Borrow someone’s suit.”

He opened his mouth only to be cut off by Aaron. “No, you can’t borrow mine.”

Alex huffed.

Everyone was talking (shouting) all at once around the meeting table as they walked into the Situation Room, trying to be heard. Someone was screaming. Phones were ringing, every screen showing maps from all across the world. Alex swallowed a lump in his throat when he realised that they were America’s nuclear arsenal.

His stomach twisted in an unpleasant way when he saw the table filled with people who were not his colleagues. These were the deputy secretaries, he realised, they were trying to hold a discussion. Gone was Henry Knox’s bolstering laughter and John Adam’s big face. These were what he’ll have to work with, for now.

_“No, we have to ground all aircrafts immediately—Listen to me I don’t give a fuck on what they have to say—”_

_“Shut down both our borders. I need intel on anyone trying to cross illegally—”_

_“Tell all hospitals to be on full alerts. We don’t know if we’ll have another attack—”_

_“Look, I don’t think you understand, sir. Your boss is_ dead _and you’re now Acting Secretary—”_

For now.

John was next to him in an instant, hand placed on his shoulder. “I know they’re nothing compared to Washington’s cabinet, but you’ll need to lead this.”

Alex snuffled. Leading the United States Treasury, he could do. This was entirely out of his field.

“Where’s our national security advisor?” He had to raise his voice at Aaron and John to get his voice heard amongst the cross-talking.

Aaron shook his head. “He attended the State of the Union.”

Alex cursed silently.

A few moments passed with John looking between them both, before clearing his throat. “I mean, I could be the security advisor.”

Alex just shrugged, seeing no bad in the idea. John has experience in the army. They did serve side by side anyway. Aaron though looked as though he was going to rebute, before snapping his mouth close when he saw that they were serious. He threw his hands. “Well, there you have it.”

His new national security advisor nudged his ribs, gesturing scross the room. Alex followed his line of sight, and his eyes landed on Peggy Rensselaer. The last time he saw his deputy secretary was probably less than 24 hours ago, but he felt like he could weep at the relief of finding _someone_ he could trust. Though handling two phone calls at once, Peggy looked unnaturally frazzled.

“I sincerely apologise. It’s not that we don’t care about your business, we just have more pressing—wait a second,” she covered the receiver against her chest, bringing the other phone to her ear. “No, don’t give me crap about authorisation. We need to close the market tomor—no, you can’t just _speak_ to him! He’s…occupied—”

“Peg, give him to me,” Alex projected his voice across the table.

The room quieted immediately, before the sound of chairs skittering filled the room as everyone stood up. Alex’s brows raised. 

_Well_ , he could certainly get used to this.

“ _Holy shi—_ ” A discord of noises came from the back of the room, shifting the attention away from him. A breathless, “You’re _alive_ ,” followed.

Perhaps just realising the attention he had on him, Nathan Hale flushed deeply, scrambling to pick up the papers he had dropped one by one. No one helped him. It was a few seconds of awkward silence as everyone watched him clean up his mess.

Alex shrugged when the man picked up his last piece of paper, jumping back up on his feet. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, Nate,” Alex mocked a salute with two fingers, grinning. The man, who Alex knew from his daily crashing to the White House cafeteria, grimaced at the implication.

Peggy on the other hand looked more than relieved at his presence. “You’re toast, _sucker_ ,” she snarled into the phone and gladly handed it to Alexander, who immediately brought it to his ear.

“Sir, I heard you—no, I’m not the _Treasury Secretary_ anymore,” Alex rolled his eyes and gave Peggy a pointed look. She snorted.

“We can’t open the market tomorrow! It will—” Alex grabbed a chair at the head of the table and plopped down. “Okay, listen _knucklehead—”_

Aaron sighed loudly, waving at everyone to sit down.

“—I’m ordering you to close the market. And I’m talking to you as _the President_ of the United States. _Thank you_ ,” Alex hung up without hearing his response and handed the phone to Peggy.

She grinned, clutching the phone to her chest. “Fancy seeing you again, sir.”

-·=»‡«=·-

**_SECRETARY OF TREASURY ALEXANDER HAMILTON SWORN IN AS PRESIDENT_ **

**__** **_[Image of Alex taking the oath with Eliza at by side, everyone looking solemn]_ **

**__** _With President Washington’s death confirmed, the Presidential Succession Act was enacted with Secretary Hamilton as the designated survivor for..._

_** WATCH PRESIDENT HAMILTON’S FIRST ADDRESS TO THE NATION ** _

**__** **_[Rerun of earlier address, Alex looking fresher in a suit with his hair slicked and tied back]_ **

**__** _Even as the address was seen by people across the nation and broadcasted around the world, the true question still remains: will this young, frankly loudmouthed president be able to help us get back up from this catastrophic attack?_

_** UPDATE: SENATOR JEFFERSON AS VICE PRESIDENT ** _

**__** _Senator Jefferson, who was miraculously absent during the attack on the Capitol, rose up and took the position of Vice President. However, his long-time rivalry with now-President Hamilton was well known..._

-·=»‡«=·-

“You know what it looks like? It looks like you knew the Capitol would blow up, so you didn’t attend it without telling anyone.” Angelica put her hands on her waist, huffing. “This is insane! And now you’re the highest ranking guy aside Alex in the government!”

“Well I’m sorry I was too sick to call anyone?” Jefferson tried, shrugging. When Angelica didn’t answer, merely stared at him, unamused, he sighed and leaned back on the couch. His bouts of nausea that had confined him in bed had long since gone, probably because of the shock of recent events. “The Secret Service had found the security footage of me _throwing up_ in front of my apartment. What other proof do you need?”

“Do you want to show _that_ to the press?”

Jefferson grimaced.

Angelica rolled her eyes one last time before stalking out of the vice president’s office, grumbling under her breath. Of all the jobs in the White House, of course she got the one that no one wants. (And she knows that it’s because she’s good at dealing with the press, but she’d pass anyway, _thank you very much_.)

Her new office was eerie as she stalked in, but she still slammed the door shut and sat at her new desk, propping her chin on both fists. Angelica took a deep breath for the thousandth time that night, and exhaled.

The adrenaline that coursed through her body was just receding, her heart still pounding from when she realised Eliza was not in the White House. Thank god Alex brought her with him, she thought. She could not bear the thought of her only sister being one of the thousands casualties that night. She would rather stab herself in the chest than watch her sister die.

Angelica blinked back the moisture out of her eyes. Thousands of people just died, and here she was in the office of one of them. The condition of the office was a mess, proving that the previous Press Secretary hadn’t got much time on his hands either. She hadn’t yet dared to move anything out of place.

The desk looked like its previous owner was just taking a walk and would be back in a few minutes. There’s a stray highlighter cap on the stack of files. A water bottle balancing precariously on the edge. Her eyes glazed over a sticky note reminding to buy groceries. A framed family portrait glared back at her, and she had to fight the guilt plaguing inside her. _He had two young children_ , she realised with dismay. _And now here you are getting a promotion._

Angelica took a deep breath.

-·=»‡«=·-

Hercules would never have thought to return to the Secret Service. Then again, no one had thought that someone would bomb the Capitol, so here he was, wearing the jacket with the organisation’s symbol on his breast, volunteering to sift through the rubbles.

Dust was still hanging in the air and he regretted not taking a mask from one of the numerous tents around. Sirens were ringing in his ears still, people shouting occasionally whenever they found a new body. So far, no survivors. He himself had found two bodies of some reporters earlier. Hercules couldn’t stop thinking about how they can’t publish their reports.

He lifted a debris and the disruption caused more clouds of dust to puff up into his face. He was too busy coughing to notice the cries of help from underneath.

“Holy shit,” he cursed when he realised there’s a man beneath the rubbles. He quickly pulled away a steel beam trapping the man and the rest of the debris fell, revealing what he thought was another fellow Secret Service agent. The man’s suit was torn apart and his face was bloodied, but other than that he seemed alert, if not a little shaken.

“Wait, calm down,” Herc said gently when the man tried to pull his arm out of a large piece of concrete.

“I need a medic! We have a survivor!” He yelled into the air, and soon enough the platter of feets came to them. His call had attracted the attention of many and caused a commotion, officials and volunteers alike streaming out of the tents to see who survived. He turned back to the man, dazed and blinking rapidly. “Hang on, man. Help’s coming.”

With help, they managed to get his arm out from under the concrete and lift him up from the rubbles and onto a stretcher. Miraculously, he only suffered a minor concussion with few injuries. Citizens behind the barricades surrounding the site were craning their necks in hope of the survivor being their loved ones.

“What’s your name?” Herc had asked while the medics patched the man up behind an ambulance.

“André,” he replied, wincing a bit when the medic prodded an open gash on his side. “John André.”

Herc’s brows furrowed. “André? From President Washington’s detail?”

André nodded. “Did he survive?” He asked with a hopeful glint in his eyes, but his sombre expression suggested that he already knew the answer. “Or any cabinet members, that is?”

Hercules swallowed. “No. No one.”

André exhaled shakily and closed his eyes for a bit, seeming to gain back his composure. “So, the designated survivor?”

Hercules let out a laugh and sat beside André when the medic had gone away to tend to another body that was found. “Alex Hamilton,” he said, feeling ridiculous himself. André smiled too, following his train of thoughts. Herc figured he probably had a lot of encounters with the short man while being part of Washington’s detail. Alex frequently leaves a big impression on anyone that crosses his path.

“You know him personally?” André asked.

“Yeah, he’s my roommate in college. We’re still in contact to this day.”

“Wow, the President’s roommate,” André teased, then looked up at the ironically clear night sky. “I guess I have a new President to serve, now.”

Herc gave him a look of disbelief. “You still gonna serve after all this?” He gestured vaguely to their surroundings. A covered body on a stretcher passed before them and Hercules grimaced, dropping his outstretched hand to his lap.

“It’s not like I have other jobs, now, do I?” André smiled, before quickly sobering up. “I’ve been through a lot, honestly. Besides, Alex is a good man. It’ll be my honour to serve him.”

Herc nodded silently, impressed. He sighed, clasping his hand together and jumped off the ambulance. “Well, it’s nice meeting you,” he shook André’s hand. “But I have to go. If you survived I think there’s hope that someone else is, too.”

André nodded at Herc’s bomber jacket. “I guess I’ll see you around, then?”

Herc peered down at the Secret Service logo. “Yeah, I guess so.”

-·=»‡«=·-

The Oval Office felt too cold, too empty, and his thoughts compensated for it, swirling in magnitudes. Alex despaired by himself, typing furiously into the night. He didn’t even have the liberty of using his own laptop. They gave him a new one, one that barely has any function besides email, a search engine and Google Docs. Security reasons, they said. One of the moments that reminded Alex, _this is your life now._

Alex sighed as he got stuck on a sentence, covering his face with his fingers. The events of the night were finally catching up on him, any thrill and adrenaline wearing off. The lights from the patio outside filtered through the windows behind him and illuminated the Resolute desk from which he worked. From where Washington used to work.

_Washington is not here anymore._ The man that had practically picked Alex up from the streets, that had sheltered him when he went back home from the army, struggling as he was just basically a fresh graduate from Columbia. The man that gave him a job in his Senate office when he realised that Alex is actually smart, if you looked past his scrappy appearance. This man, that despite everyone thought was larger than life, still held Alex dear to him even when he held the highest office of the land.

He was who he would consider a father, and Alex didn’t even say goodbye.

How he had taken their every interactions for granted, how every time Washington would attempt at fondness and how every time Alex would brush it off with humour, not knowing how to accept the tender gesture.

The door creaked. “Alex?” A soft voice called. “Are you alright?”

Salt tasted in his mouth, and he realised he was crying, chest heaving. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of John’s borrowed shirt, clearing his throat. “I—yeah.”

Eliza closed the door behind her with a click, and her expression was soft as she walked towards him. Alex sniffed again, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “What are you writing?” She asked softly as she put a gentle hand on his back.

“Just—my thoughts on rebuilding the government,” he rasped out, grateful that she didn’t mention the stutter in his breath or his sniffling. “I thought Jefferson and I could use some planning.”

“Well you’re quite ahead of everyone,” she remarked quietly, her pretty face illuminated by the screen as she skimmed through the text. “This is…quite brilliant. ‘Using the clean slate we receive from this senseless act of tragedy to reflect on what could be improved from the previous system, and what could be thrown out.’”

Alex quirked a smile at the compliment. She looked back at him with bright eyes, a proud glint in them. “Do you want to stay here and write all night?” She whispered, already all-too-knowing of his habits.

He replied with silently shifting in his seat to make space, and she took the invitation gladly. Taking her shoes off and clambered on, half on the seat and half on Alex’s lap.

He watched her read what he had already written, making a few edits here and there. Alex would mutter what he wants to say, and Eliza typed it in diligently. Soon enough they were on a rhythm, and Alex tucked his face into the nook of her shoulder, inhaling her comforting scent deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Quote originally by President Barack Obama. Back  
> 2\. It is uncertain how many presidents used a Bible or added the words "So help me God" at the end of the oath, or in their acceptance of the oath, as neither is required by law; unlike many other federal oaths which do include the phrase "So help me God." Back
> 
> After reading [whatever it is, jefferson started it](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8309056) and watching all four seasons of Designated Survivor, I just need to write something about it so I decided to write a one shot, but then the plot kinda expanded into three acts? Oops.
> 
> And I want to thank [Sanna_Black_Slytherin](/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/) for allowing me to use her fic as inspiration! She’s been very nice and extremely helpful by helping me with the first draft.
> 
> I’ve already written the second and third chapters, so that should be up in a few days. Until then, stay safe! ♡


	2. The First Day

“Did you even sleep last night?”

Angelica’s shrill voice didn’t help his throbbing temples, and Alex winced as he leaned against the counter. The coffee maker whirred beside him.

“I’m fine, thank you very much,” he grumbled, aware that he’s basically confirming Angelica’s suspicion. He grabbed the coffee when it’s done and took a long sip, eyes closed. _Ah, coffee as black as the pits of hell_. His savior.

She raised an eyebrow. “You do realise there’s people that would make coffee for you, right?”

Alex blinked and for the first time registered his surroundings. People were trickling in the cafeteria to have late breakfast or grab a snack, but he’d be blind if he didn’t notice the strange looks he’d been receiving. It may be due to the fact that he’s still wearing John’s wrinkly shirt from yesterday, or maybe because the president doesn’t casually grab a coffee in the cafeteria. Probably both.

Alex glared at an intern who had been staring at him for way too long and watched as he widened his eyes in panic and skedaddled out of there.

He huffed and Angelica softened perceptibly. “It’s okay if you sleep, Alex. No one would blame you.”

Alex visibly sagged. Of course she read right through him. He’s not even surprised.

But he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, not when he knew someone’s out there just waiting for Alex to slip up and cause the government to finally collapse. When he knew that his survival was just a coincidence, a pesky loose end in a larger, coordinated attack.

He frowned and took another sip.

“At least eat something?” Angelica appealed and reached behind Alex to grab a bagel. She waved it in front of Alex like he was a cat and didn’t relent until he grabbed it, but not without another grumble being thrown her way. She smiled at the victory anyway.

“Have you seen Eliza?” Alex said between bites of bagel. “I’ve seen her this morning to pass my papers but now I have some corrections and I wanna call her but Tallmadge doesn’t want to give me my phone.”

“Security reasons, sir.”

Angelica and Alex jumped when Tallmadge seemingly popped out from behind a water dispenser. The agent just grinned sheepishly.

Angelica exhaled, but not without a glare being thrown his way. “Jesus. Since when are you there?”

He shrugged. “I’m always here.”

Alex just shuddered and refilled his coffee. “I swear you usually won’t notice him,” he muttered into his cup before downing the whole thing in one go.

“Okay, that’s enough coffee for one day,” Angelica stated, grabbing the cup and throwing it in the trash. “Let’s get you to the Residence, and you are going to take a long bath and then get changed in something comfortable,” she said as she grabbed Alex’s hand that’s not holding the bagel and marched him down the corridors of the West Wing, ignoring his sounds of protest.

  
  


“I don’t know what I’m doing, Angie.”

Alex admitted as he gripped the blanket tighter around himself and burrowed deeper into the fabric. His hair was still wet from the shower and he looked smaller in the oversized hoodie Angelica picked out for him. The dark around his eyes seemed more prominent than usual. Like this, Angelica could see just how young he is, being two years her junior.

And now he’s the President.

“You’re doing fine, Alex.” She set her mug down on the coffee table and leaned forward to grab his hands. “Your address last night restored order in last night’s chaos. You might not know what you are doing, but we don’t know either. Just— just pretend. It’s enough. The people _need_ you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled slightly. “Have you seen the news?”

_Ah. It’s about that_. Angelica sighed and shook her head. “Alex—“

“No,” Alex cut her off and retracted his hands. He stood up, letting the blanket fall off his shoulders. Angelica just watched as he started to pace around the sitting room, sunlight filtering from the window behind him. “They think I’m not suitable,” he scoffed.

Angelica opened her mouth only to be cut off by Alex again. “Don’t give me bullshit about ‘restoring hope’ or ‘leading the people’. How could they rely on me if they don’t even trust me?

“They say I’m too young for this. Too— what’d they say?“ He waved his hands, trying to find the exact word. “Too inexperienced. Too _immature_.”

“Since when do you even hear what they say?”

“Since I’m the President.”

Angelica herself couldn’t deny it. The media had blamed him before for not taking stuff seriously at times. They usually called him playful at best, irresponsible at worst. Angelica had remarked when she first met Alex at a bar downtown that Alex looked like he’s too young to be in the wolves’ den that is Washington DC, to which Alex just laughed.

She had just been accepted as part of the White House media relations, probably because of her father’s position in the Senate. With the stress of her new job, she was hoping to find someone to bring home. And then she saw Alex sitting at the bar with John Laurens, whom she recognised as another fellow Senator’s son, talking passionately with his hands flailing around while John just listened with amusement.

She didn’t know exactly what made her come up and talked to him, but she figured it’s probably the mischievous expression, or the playful glint he always seemed to have in his eyes.

They flirted for a while and one thing led to another, and they found themselves in her bed, sucking each other’s face off.

Then Angelica woke up the next morning and realised that they both fell asleep on one another with half of their clothes scattered around in her apartment, both probably too tired to proceed with their intimacies. Surprisingly, the aftermath had not been awkward as she expected and they decided to stay as friends, and later Angelica was surprised to learn that Alex had served in the army and was then-Senator Washington’s policy director.

_“Too young, you say?”_ Alex had teased her.

_“Shut up,”_ Angelica blushed and they both laughed, but he quickly sobered up.

_“I get that sometimes,”_ Alex revealed, a faraway look in his eyes. _“Some people just didn’t have the liberty to be young, Angie.”_

Angelica hadn’t known what to make out of it then.

“Oh! And did you watch that viral blog?” Alex suddenly asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. “They said that the attack was a chance to ‘reboot the system’! That’s ridiculous! Don’t they have empathy?” He exclaimed, eyes wide. He stopped his pacing in front of Angelica. “And okay—they have a point, our politics are a joke—but the longer I watch the news the more I’m convinced that this country is just one big hallucination.”

Angelica laughed at the statement. “You have a point on that last one.”

“Of course I have, I’m always right.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled regardless. Truth be told, she likes talking politics with Alex, but she figured now they could use some light-hearted banter. “I really like the design here,” Angelica commented, looking around the master bedroom. She fixed her eyes on the chandelier above her head. “It feels like I’m in the Versailles.”

“Yeah, Martha designed it,” Alex replied, following her gaze. He seemed to have just realised the design. “Washington complained to me that she cares too much about the details. They finished the renovations just last week.” Alex frowned.

Angelica grimaced, hating how everything in the White House would just lead back to Washington.

“You’re really bad at changing topics,” Alex stated, sensing her distress.

“I’m great at it. It’s just that you’re the one who keeps changing it back.”

“Touché.” He chewed his cheek, then looked over to the clock hanging behind the couch and sighed. “I need to go change now and see Jefferson and Tallmadge later.” He offered her a meek smile. “Thanks for hearing me rant, Angie.”

She just shook her head and opened her arms. “Come here, Alex.”

Alex dove into her arms.

-·=»‡«=·-

A large stack of papers landed in front of Aaron’s computer with a smack, narrowly missing his fingers.

“What the hell?!”

John grinned as the man glared at him. “Sorry, Aaron.” He then patted the papers and sighed. “Eliza sent this to us. It’s from Alex.”

Aaron did a double take when he realised the amount of papers. It almost towered his computer. “He wrote all of this?”

“What did you think he did in his office all night?” John deadpanned. “We need to proof-read all of this for him to propose to Congress,” he said, then added, “and by Congress I mean Jefferson.”

“Damn,” Aaron cursed and took a sizable portion of papers out of the stack. “At this rate I won’t have time to go to lunch,” he grumbled as he skimmed through the document. “Do we have to do this? I thought this was Eliza's job.”

“Oh, no, Eliza and her staff took the other half. This is the rest.”

-·=»‡«=·-

_“Today on CNN: Is Alexander Hamilton actually eligible to become president and can this young man lead an entire nation? We are joined here today with former Deputy Secretary of the Treasury, Margarita ‘Peggy’ Rensselaer.”_

A new screen appeared, and one of the reporters in the studio started speaking. _“Welcome, Peggy. Now, is it true that President Hamilton is an illegitimate child and that he lied about his age to appear much older than he actually is?”_

The other winced. _“Ooh, that would be bad, Jake. Especially in this day and age.”_ She continued, _“Even the late Vice President Adams seemed to have shared his distaste with Hamilton’s past. He said that Hamilton’s father was a failed Irish businessman.”_

_“Scottish,”_ Peggy corrected the reporter, rubbing her temples. _“His father is Scottish. Now I don’t understand why you think he lied about his age, especially after the birth certificate scandal…”_

James Callender tuned out the sounds from the TV in the corner. He had long since learned to not trust the news.

“Your taste is… _interesting_ ,” he remarked as a waitress put a plate of fries in front of him. He picked one up and watched as his two fingers became greasy with its excessive oil.

The man sitting across him scoffed, stirring his milkshake with the straw. “Cut the bullshit, Callender. I have work in half an hour. Why do you wanna meet me?”

The journalist grinned, making his table partner increasingly agitated. Callender slid a battered phone across the table in one quick movement, a video paused on its screen. The phone itself was cracked, and was slightly warped. The man looked down at it with disinterest.

“Where you got it?”

“At the Capitol site. It was in the pocket of some dead janitor. I took it before the police search ‘em,” Callender shrugged.

The man gave Callender a disgusted look.

“Well? Are you going to play it?” Callender taunted.

The man gave the journalist a look and sipped his milkshake. “One day your attitude will get you killed, James,” he said like he's critiquing about his fashion choices.

Callender scoffed, trying not to pay attention to the way the hair on the back of his neck rose.

When the drink was halfway finished, he pressed play.

After a few seconds, the man looked up at Callender. “What do you want?”

Callender grinned. The man had clearly underestimated him. He drummed his fingers on the table before clasping his hands together.

“You see, as a journalist…”  
  


-·=»‡«=·-

“Hello, André. We meet again,” Alex grinned cheekily as he spinned around his seat from behind his desk, clasping his hands together.

“Alex, play nice,” John chided him before sending the agents in front of them an apologetic look.

Tallmadge snorted as André chuckled, pretty used to this. “Always happy to be in your service, Mr. President.”

Out of all Washington’s Secret Service agents, André probably faced the worst teasing from Alex, second only to Tallmadge. Probably due to the fact that André _actually_ entertains Alex— _God bless his tender soul_ —which is the number one thing _not_ to do if you don’t want Alexander Hamilton to haunt your every step for the rest of your life.

Someone else emerged through the door, and John watched in shock as Alex’s grin grew wider.

“It’s been a long time, Herc.”

Hercules scoffed good-naturedly. “Not nearly long enough.”

John’s jaw was still on the floor.

Alex laughed at John’s expression and jumped from behind his desk to engulf Hercules in a tight hug, but not before pulling John right into it with him. The three college friends stayed that way for a few moments, savouring whatever free moment they have to themselves.

Last John had seen Hercules was two years ago. Hercules had joined the Secret Service after serving some time in the army alongside Alex, but he was in the investigative department, so he rarely met Alex or John in the way that Tallmadge or André might have. Then he quit for whatever reason, though Alex had confessed to John that said reason was beyond his security clearance. But now John figured that Alex probably had gained whatever security clearance he needed.

“Alright, no offence, man,” Hercules had teased John once they pulled back from the hug, “but what are you doing here?”

“He’s my new security advisor!” Alex exclaimed proudly, jumping behind John and latched onto his neck, causing John to stumble backwards and sent them both crashing to the ground in a fit of laughter.

Hercules rolled his eyes but still found himself smiling. Alex and John liked to roughhouse since college, and it appeared the fact hadn’t changed one bit.

Tallmadge cleared his throat, and John smiled apologetically again while pulling Alex back on his feet.

“ _Mr. President_ ,” Tallmadge started, his tone almost chiding, “everyone is now here.”

“Oh, yes. Right to business.” Alex nodded while straightening his suit, immediately catching a serious tone in his voice. “I figured that we can’t exactly publish our investigations about the bombing without alarming the true culprit—“

“—and the public,” John offered.

Alex nodded once. “So I decided to keep my circle tight, thus what I am about to tell you will never get out of this room.”

They all hummed a noise of affirmation and huddled closer around him.

“What we know is that someone in the White House is leaking information to the bomber, and it could be blueprints, weak spots of important infrastructures in the country, nuclear launch codes, Jefferson’s porn stash—“

André snorted.

“—and I don’t know who did it. As I can’t exactly tell the whole building about this, we won’t share anything about this investigation to anyone except to me or the people in this room, okay?”

Alex leaned forward further and whispered conspiratorially, “I don’t trust most of these deputy secretaries.”

Hercules raised his eyebrows in confusion. “I thought you hang out with thos—“

“Abajabab—“ Alex shushed and put a finger on Hercules’s lips. Hercules stared down at the finger until Alex removed said finger. He looked happy when Hercules didn’t continue. “As I said, that means no FBI, no Secret Service, hell, not even Jefferson even though he’s veep.

“Until condition permits, we’ll make our investigation in the basement, away from prying eyes,” Alex continued and then frowned, probably annoyed at the fact that he’ll need to walk a long distance from the Oval to go to the basement.

A beep suddenly came from Alex’s desk. He turned around and punched a button on the phone. “Bring ‘em in,” he said.

He turned back towards the men. “Remember, this meeting never happened, Hercules is ‘mentoring’ under Tallmadge,” Alex made air quotations, ”and we were here because John got super excited with his new job.”

John opened his mouth to protest but then the door to the Oval Office opened, and in popped Eliza’s head. “Hey, Al— I mean, Mr. President—“

Alex snickered at the slip and Eliza looked perplexed when she finally noticed the close proximity of the men. “Uh, am I interrupting something?”

John blinked and jumped backwards to create more space between them. “I— no, not at all!” John stammered and nudged Hercules with his elbow.

Tallmadge rolled his eyes. _So much for being discreet._ “No, ma’am. We were just finishing.”

Eliza looked at Alex and he just shrugged. Her brows furrowed but she didn’t ask further, only opening the door wider to allow two men, walking sideways in order to fit the covered panel they’re carrying through the door.

John watched curiously as the men went to the wall opposite of the desk, occasionally instructing one another to move this way or that. They stared as they set it down before one of them pulled away the fabric covering it, revealing a portrait of George Washington.

Eliza, who was standing by the door, let out a gasp. “ _Oh_ , Alex.”

Alex pushed himself forward to walk around the couches before stopping in front of the portrait. “Hang it up, gentlemen.”

After pulling down the former painting from the wall, they replaced it with Washington’s portrait, and suddenly something great shifted in the room, and John felt like squirming. With their job done, the two men folded the fabric before looking expectantly at Alex.

Alex’s expression was stoic, his eyes taking in every detail of the portrait and John hated it when he couldn’t read Alex’s expression. Eliza walked forward and hugged Alex from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder _and_ _that’s their cue to leave_.

Once the click of the door closing could be heard, and they were alone, Eliza said, “We’re going to find them, honey.”

Alex nodded, eyes never leaving the likeness of the man he had seen as his father. “We’re going to hunt ‘em down.”  
  
  


-·=»‡«=·-

_**MEET THE FUTURE FIRST LADY OF THE UNITED STATES** _

The picture of the swearing in of President Hamilton had circulated around the Internet yesterday, and many of us wonder, since his infamous girlfriend of three years, Elizabeth Schuyler, held the Bible, does that mean we will have a presidential engagement and wedding soon?

_Some had even speculated that the iconic couple had engaged secretly, especially after the rumour that had circulated around two months ago but allegedly had to postpone the announcement after the tragedy that struck the Capitol yesterday._

_Nevertheless, we had interviewed some White House staff, and they believe that Eliza is certainly the one for our new beloved president._

_“They really are_ the _couple in the White House, second only to Martha and George Washington,” an insider said. “They’re like the Jack and Jackie of our time.”_

_According to the insider, the two had met during Washington’s campaign through her sister and now Press Secretary, Angelica Schuyler._

_“He’s really close with the two sisters even before his days in politics,” the insider revealed. “He is also a dear friend to their father, former Senator Schuyler, who shared many of Hamilton’s political views 1.”_

_Talk about political power couples!_

-·=»‡«=·-

“Stop bouncing your knee,” Eliza placed a hand on Alex’s knee. “You’re making me nervous.”

Despite Eliza’s assuring smile, Alex still felt bad. “Sorry.”

This was the fifth time Eliza had to stop Alex’s bouncing knee since they departed from the White House. Eliza looked out from her window to see the police cars lining the street to clear the traffic for their motorcade. A few people had even walked out into the storefronts to catch a glimpse of their convoy.

“This is my first time in a motorcade,” Eliza stated conversationally.

Alex raised a brow challenging that statement and Eliza rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. Minus that night.”

Okay, she’ll admit, bringing up the night of the SOTU is a bad idea, especially when they’re on their way to the site of the attack, but to be fair, she’ll go crazy if she saw Alex bounce his knee _one more time._

The automobile stopped, and Eliza just realised that they had arrived. André, who was silent in the driver’s seat, spoke up. “We’re here, sir.”

They let the other Secret Service agents take their positions around the perimeter before they could get out. Meade opened the door on Eliza’s side and she stepped out, and was instantly bombarded with the roaring crowd behind the barrier. They had camped out to pay their respect in the cold, and some were also hoping to see the new President, though a few of them even waved at her. Feeling flustered with the sudden attention, she walked around the vehicle to Alex’s side and stopped in her tracks.

The news feed didn’t capture the exact scale of the attack. Where was supposed to be the steps of the Capitol was flattened out, rendering any semblance of direction useless. The Capitol’s once-grand dome was obliterated, leaving only a scrap of its metal frame. It’s like a hurricane had swept away everything inside the compound of the building.

_Hurricane._

Eliza hurriedly glanced at Alex, and she noticed him tense up considerably, but obviously trying to hide it from the public, what with the reporters yelling questions towards them and cameras flashing every two seconds. She looped her arm through his elbow and squeezed his arm to say, _I’m here._

Alex swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He tightened his coat over himself. “Let’s go.”

Eliza led Alex through the rubbles, trying not to trip on the debris while Meade and André flanked their sides. A couple of cameramen from some news network trailed behind them and Eliza immediately regretted coming there.

It was like a wasteland. The sky was gray, and a few crows had perched on top of concrete debris. The search was still going on, with medics and volunteers alike sifting through the rubbles. They went to the tents, where most of the volunteers and firefighters and police set their camps. She tried not to look at the tent where they laid all of the bodies.

Someone stepped out of one of the tents and walked towards them. “Mr. President,” he called out, “Oliver Wolcott, Director of the FBI.” Grinning, he held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.” He nodded at Eliza. “And you too, Miss Schuyler.”

Alex and Eliza shook his hand. “What do we have here, Wolcott?” He asked, looking around.

“We’re still in the process of taking out all of the bodies,” he said as he started to walk. “After you, sir.” He gestured happily towards a cleared out path. The man seemed strangely lively.

Eliza looked at Alex and he shrugged.

“We’ve almost found everyone. Still no survivor, except that Secret Service one,” Wolcott nodded at André who was walking behind Alex. “André, right? Of Washington’s detail—careful with those spikes there, miss—quite the charmer.”

“You’ve met him?” Alex asked, glancing at André before turning back ahead. He’s struggling to keep up with the director’s lively pace. Eliza huffed a laugh when Alex’s shiny boots got stuck between some rubble. He glared at her.

“Of course!” Wolcott replied. “We’ve questioned him before we let him go. He is the sole survivor after all,” he paused, “and of course, you too, sir.”

“Right,” Alex swallowed, and he and André exchanged glances.

“Where are we heading?” Eliza asked, changing the topic.

“Where the House Chamber2 is, of course.” Wolcott said, then grimaced at the mistake. “I’m sorry. Where it _was_.”

The area where they’re approaching were certainly more crowded with medics and firefighters alike. Most of their faces and clothes were obscured with concrete dust, and all of them looked positively exhausted.

“They’ve been here since yesterday?” Eliza asked while acknowledging an FBI agent walking past them.

“Yes,” Wolcott replied. He then repeated, “But I believe we have almost found all the bodies, then we can proceed with cleaning and reconstruction.”

Alex nodded, then said, “Can I go and… see?”

Wolcott shrugged. “Sure.”

Eliza watched carefully as Alex walked tentatively and was greeted by numerous officers before they left him alone to wander around. She noticed how his smile would dim when he thought nobody was watching.

“You’re not going, ma’am?” André asked suddenly, glancing at her.

She shook her head. “No. Aren’t you?”

“He seems to need a few moments alone,” he said, eyes constantly wandering around Alex in case of threats. “I figured he'd probably appreciate it if he has space.”

Eliza hummed approvingly. “You are correct.”

André’s mouth quirked up. “Is this some kind of test?”

“If you want it to be,” Eliza stated coolly, eyes still on Alex. “I notice that he quite likes you.”

This time, André looked at Eliza confusingly. “Is there a problem, ma’am?”

“None.” She rubbed her nose when a particularly cold breeze tickled it. “It’s just that I think it’s weird for him to be attached to you.”

“It’s because I’m his agent.”

“Maybe,” Eliza relented. She nodded at Meade who was standing a few feet in front of them. “But Meade is also in his detail but Alex didn’t invite him to whatever meeting you all were in earlier, did he?” She looked at André and tilted her head. “You seemed to have earned his trust in such a short time.”

The agent looked appalled at her observation. “I—I assure you the meeting is out of your security clearance. We really can’t—“

She waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t care about that. I understand. But keep in mind, he’s used to people walking out of his life,” she gestured towards their surroundings. “This is just another example. If he trusts you, then I expect the same courtesy from you.”

She looked at him square in the eyes. “Don’t take advantage of his trust.”

He gulped. “I won’t.”

“Mr. President!”

Eliza and André snapped back their head at the sound and was instantly horrified when Alex was nowhere in sight. Meade was already rushing forward.

“Shit—“ André ran towards where Alex was last seen standing and Eliza followed suit. After climbing around a pile of rubble, Eliza stopped in her tracks.

Alex was kneeling over a piece of marble, trying to pull something out from beneath it. André immediately stepped forward and helped lift it up, and Alex used both hands to pull out what was revealed to be the presidential seal.

Only then did Eliza realise where they were standing. The American flag laid torn in front of them. The large pieces of wood scattered around was the rostrum where the President last gave his speech, and the pieces of black and white marble were the frontispiece behind it.

Alex used the sleeve of his coat to wipe off the dust covering the seal. He traced the lines with his fingers, and for a long time they just stood there while he stared at it, unheeding of the camera flashes surrounding them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Philip Schuyler was very status-conscious, however he had an instant rapport with the illegitimate West Indian. Both Hamilton and Schuyler spoke French, were well-read, appreciated military discipline, and also shared a common loyalty to Washington and impatience with congressional incompetence, even though Schuyler was a member of the Continental Congress.  
>  _Excerpt from Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow._Back  
> 2\. The House Chamber, also known as the Hall of the House of Representatives is a large assembly room located in the center of the U.S. Capitol's south wing. Back
> 
> Drink a glass of water every time I mention Washington and your kidneys will thank you later.


	3. Reminiscence

_** PHOTOGRAPH OF PRESIDENT HAMILTON DURING HIS VISIT TO THE SITE OF CAPITOL ATTACK WENT VIRAL  
** _ _**[Black and white image of Alex kneeling, staring the presidential seal in the middle of rubbles]** _

_If you haven’t seen this photo at least once in these past two days, then you are living under a rock. After President Hamilton visited the site of the Capitol bombing with his long term partner, Elizabeth Schuyler, who is also the now communications director of the White House, this photo emerged from a Washington Herald’s photographer who accompanied them during the visit._

_Many people on the internet dubbed this photo as ‘iconic’, what with the situation right now. Some even said that it was symbolic, since the late President Washington was like ‘a father figure’ to the current President, as mentioned by Treasury Secretary Peggy Rensselaer in an interview with CNN earlier this week._

_The current investigation for the attack is still ongoing, although President Hamilton himself had remarked that it is classified in order to avoid interference in the investigation._

  
-·=»‡«=·-

“I’ve always thought you look natural in a gown,” Alex remarked, looping his tie for the second time. He always seems to tie it too tight.

Eliza smiled while bending down to put on her heels. “Oh really?”

“Yep,” Alex grinned at her through the mirror. “I could totally see you being born as a rich man’s daughter in the 18th century.”

“You goof,” she raised from the sofa and turned him around, fixing the tie herself. “Now, if I were born in the 18th century then you would have no one to fix your tie.”

“Eh, true,” he shrugged and pecked her firmly on the lips once she had finished. He grabbed his coat on the way to the Residence’s elevator. “Come on. Can’t keep the people waiting.”

The moment they stepped through the doors, applause and cheers echoed throughout the ballroom as he and Eliza shook numerous hands and expressed thanks. The event was supposed to be about charity of some sorts, but fast rebuilding of the government and the fact that they managed to keep the economy from crashing caused the spotlights to be on them for quite some time before the crowd finally dispersed and allowed both of them to finally be free.

“I would congratulate you but I think that won’t be necessary,” Angelica emerged, holding two glasses of champagne. She looked beautiful in her red dress, though it did give her that no-nonsense vibe.

“My fingers are numb from all those handshakes,” Eliza admitted as she took a glass from Angelica’s hand.

Alex sipped his champagne that was pushed into his hands at one point during the commotion. “Don’t be relieved yet, love. There’s still the rest of the night.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re enjoying this,” Angelica smirked.

He smirked right back around the rim of his glass. “Maybe.”

He left the two sisters to carry on with their conversation and wandered around, although he was constantly being stopped for conversations. He was in a discussion about renewable energy with some governors when he spotted Thomas in the corner of the ballroom standing all by himself. Excusing himself from the circle, he walked towards Thomas.

“Careful there, Jefferson,” he spoke up, stopping by Thomas’ side. “Your mask is slipping.”

Merely sipping his wine, he watched through his peripheral view as Thomas visibly startled, making his champagne slosh in his glass.

“How did you know?” He looked at Alex, gaze sharp.

“Washington,” he replied, and Thomas frowned. He continued, “Hadn’t told me much, just that you hate crowds.”

“Of course he had told you. He told you everything. You have him wrapped around your little pinkie.” Thomas scoffed, sipping his own champagne. “You’re in charge of the Treasury but he treats you like an advisor.”

“Oh, and how has that helped us,” Alex pointed out. Then he said, “Callender is here.”

“And why should I care?” He had said, but Alex saw how his eyes discreetly combed through the crowds of journalists, trying to locate the man in question.

“Because you tried to blackmail me through him,” he simply said. “But then he got receipts on _you_ 1.”

“Sally Hemings was my secretary.”

“Whom you impregnated,” Alex shot back. “Callender is a scumbag. I don’t understand why you went to him.”

“He’s also a scumbag who would publish any juicy story he has.”

“Regardless of the truth.”

“Regardless of the truth,” Thomas affirmed.

It was Alex’s turn to scoff.

“You’re too honest for your own good,” Thomas reminded him, grinning. “Don’t you see it? We’re in top-tier politics. People would hang on every single word we say.”

“But tell too many lies and your words will lose their meaning.” Alex shot back. “I don’t understand how you lie with such ease.”

“It is necessary in a place where everyone tries to kick you out of the game,” Thomas swirled his glass before downing its whole content. He smacked his lips and glanced at Alex. “How did you think I became a senator anyways?”

Alex shrugged, watching as someone made their way towards them before noticing Jefferson and turned right back on their heels. “I suppose you’re satisfied now that you are vice president?”

Thomas chuckled, shaking his head at Alex like a child that had asked something ridiculous. “The vice presidency is the most useless office that you could ever give me.”

Alex snorted. “You’re starting to sound like our dear Johnny A.2” He glanced at Thomas. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Thomas smirked. “Of course, _Mr. President_.”

He rolled his eyes and strode away, leaving Thomas in his corner. Eliza showed up by his side. “What did you two talked about?”

“Reminiscing the good ol’ time.”

“Ah,” Eliza pursed her lips. “Is it about the Reynolds scandal?”

“Of some sorts.” Alex sighed. “Callender is here.”

She instantly scanned over the crowds as Alex huffed. After a few moments, she locked her eyes over his shoulder. “He’s behind you,” she leaned in and whispered. Then, her eyes went wide. “Oh crap, he’s coming over here.”

Alex gasped and put his glass on the floor. “Quick, run,” he held his arm out for Eliza to hold. She grinned and grabbed it, one hand lifting her skirts as they both ran away giggling, ignoring and pushing through the crowds.

Once they had reached the other end of the ballroom they stopped. Catching their breaths, Alex looked behind him and aside from the flustered crowd, no one had followed them. “We’ve lost him.”

“Oh, would you look at that,” Eliza grinned, noticing the dancing partners around them. “I believe I have long since overdue for my dance, Mr. President.”

Alex gave her a crooked grin and raised up their intertwining hands to give hers a kiss. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Schuyler.”

As they joined the other partners, Alex couldn’t help but think how beautiful Eliza was. She was absolutely glowing, twirling in her blue dress, and he couldn’t help but to lean in and gave her a deep kiss, pulling her towards his body.

After a while Eliza smacked his ribs and he pulled out, smiling cheekily. “You can’t French kiss me in front of people, Alex!” She chided, but still found herself laughing.

“It’s my house, I could do whatever I want.” Alex winked, and she delivered another smack.

”Mr. President,” Aaron suddenly materialised beside them, destroying the moment. Alex was about to open his mouth to shoo him away before noticing his urgent expression. “Something came up.”

Angelica strode out of her office with her heels clacking, fingers flying rapidly over her phone. She paid no attention to her surroundings nor to the numerous people she almost crashed into. A reporter walked past before noticing her and turned around to catch up with her pace. Angelica was quick to shush him before he could even part his lips, using “No comment,” this time as the reporter was left behind.

Her sister was quick to replace the dismissed reporter‘s spot. “How’s the press?” Eliza asked.

“They know something came up, just not what,” she replied, eyes not taking off her phone. “I’m trying to throw off their scent.”

They marched through the corridor leading to the Oval Office, but that’s not their destination. They bumped into John who was stalking out of the Roosevelt Room and he swiftly joined them.

“The ambassador?” Angelica shot, not faltering her stride even when her dress threatened to catch on her heels.

John shook his head. “Denied that they’re involved.”

The two sisters nodded and snuck into the jam-packed elevator as the doors started to close. John instead turned left and popped his head into a room.

“Aaron,” he called out and tapped his wrist. The man in question, hunched over his desk, raised his head and held out a finger to John.

“Alright, thank you Madam Secretary,” Aaron ended his call and put down the receiver. He took a moment to straighten his lapel before walking out of his office and straight into another.

He knocked twice sharply on the already opened door. “Mr. Vice President.”

“Yes, yes,” Jefferson nodded absent-mindedly while shoving a stack of papers into a secretary’s arms. “Bring those papers down, Vanessa.”

Vanessa nodded and scurried away in her heels, using her hips to push the door open when it had started to close after the Chief of Staff. Rushing through the halls, she managed to keep the papers from scattering to the floor. The secretary ran when the elevator’s doors were about to close and made it just in time, squeezing amongst other people.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Vanessa felt giddy. Today was a good day. She got to go to her first ever charity event and she even got to go down to the Situation Room.

The elevator doors opened and she strutted out. It was not hard to find her destination, she just followed the general traffic, through the basement lobby and past the Navy Mess. She then turned right twice, and suddenly she found herself just inches away from the President’s face.

Vanessa couldn’t help but notice that he looked disheveled, his hair which was previously tied back was now in a bun. He even had forgone his tie and coat.

“Mr. President,” she stammered after a few seconds, just realising that she had been staring.

The President simply frowned at the stack of papers in her hands. “Is that from Jefferson?”

Vanessa nodded dumbly.

“Finally,” Alex sighed and snatched the topmost sheet while walking back into the room. He glossed over the details on the paper. On it, a man’s printed profile matched the ones displayed on all the screens in the room. Alex gestured towards the paper in his hand. “Are we sure it’s sent by them?”

The CIA Director stood up from her place down the table. “Affirmative, sir. Our cyber intelligence confirmed their legitimacy.”

“I thought you said the group was _tiny_ ,” Alex‘s brows raised in defiance. “How could they even manage to bomb the Capitol?”

The Director blinked, perplexed. She exchanged glances with the FBI Director. Clearing his throat, Wolcott raised a finger. “Actually, sir, we said it was _fairly small_ , not tiny—“

Eliza, not wanting a petty bickering to happen immediately cut her off. “Mr. President, perhaps the group has grown since the last time. It has been a few years since we last heard them.”

“Should we alert the press, sir?” Angelica raised her head from her phone, “They’ve been begging to know the gist.”

Alex crossed his arms, smushing the paper and shook his head. “Not yet, Angelica. Wait until we can analyse the entire thing.”

At that moment Jefferson rushed through the door and Alex glared at him for his tardiness but decided not to comment for the sake of finally getting on with it.

Alex nodded at McHenry when Jefferson had finally taken his seat. “Play the video, General.”

The largest screen in the room showed an emblem of sorts, before fading to a shot of the same man whose face was on the paper and the screens surrounding them. He appeared to be in an abandoned warehouse.

John exhaled from his place behind Alex. “Mr. President, the leader of Al-Sakar.”

Alex walked directly in front of the screen as the leader started to speak in a foreign language, and a translator hired by them rattled off the message in English.

 _“I am Majid Nassar. Last week, my Al-Sakar Martyrs Brigade annihilated your government, so you too can experience the terror and destruction you have wrought upon our lands,”_ the man’s hand tightened over his rifle that he’s been holding. _“Beware,_ Mr. President _.”_ His eyes seemed to cut through the screen.

Alex’s throat tightened at the direct address.

_“Righteousness is our guide and we are many. We will complete our quest, and when the time comes—“_

The translator stopped and looked uncertain even as Nassar continued talking.

“What is it?” John asked, alarmed.

Alex nodded at him to tell him to continue.

_“—and when the time comes, you too will join your fallen friends as we destroy the last of your roots.”_

The video had ended and the whole room was silent, the tension so apparent from the assassination threat. Alex’s jaws clenched.

The CIA Director hastily stood up again at the same time with Wolcott, both fast enough to almost tip over their chairs. “Mr. President I _assure_ you—“ “Sir, no such attempts will be made—“

“This is _bullshit_ ,” Alex snarled, still glaring at the screen.

General McHenry too stood up. “But sir, we have analysed his facial features, his dialect and speech pattern, we even had a behavioral psychologist, and they all confirmed. This _is_ Majid Nassar.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Alex turned to address the whole room. “‘Experience terror’?” Alex scoffed. “Excuses, excuses. They’re taking credit for this attack to assert their legitimacy.” He sighed, trying to keep his composure. ”They don’t even have the resources. Call me crazy, but I don’t think it’s their work.”

“I think you are right, sir,” John said. “Besides, their group had taken credit for attacks committed by others in the past.”

“The Algerian hospital bombing of 2013,” the Defense Secretary recalled, and John made a sound of agreement.

“I think it’s best for us not to take any action right now.”

”But with all due respect sir,” McHenry appealed, “at least we have _an_ _enemy_ now. We could tell the press.” He gestured to Angelica. “The American people could now have someone they could blame—“

“And have Muslims here in America harassed further for a crime they didn’t commit? Absolutely not.” Alex pointed his finger at the screen, “Find more concrete evidence than someone _confessing_ to a camera, then I will consider it.” Slamming the sheet of paper on the table, Majid Nassar’s face stared at them all as Alex stormed out of the room.

“Quite the outburst you had down there, Alex.”

“I thought I told my secretary to not let anyone in.” Alex looked up from his papers and scoffed when he discovered that it was Jefferson. “Also, since when do you call me Alex?”

“Everyone calls you Alex, Alex,” Thomas smirked, closing the door completely before leaning on it. “Even your staff. You could be the fucking President but you’re still the White House’s sweetheart.”

“They’re my friends,” he frowned, sitting up straighter on the couch and planting his feet firmly on the floor. “May I know what you’re doing in my office, _Tommy_?”

Instead of answering, Thomas waltzed into the private study and plopped down on the couch opposite him, resting his arms on the backrest. He looked around the room while propping his legs on the coffee table, making Alex narrow his eyes. “It’s rude to come into people's offices uninvited.”

“It wasn’t me who exposed you to Callender,” Thomas answered instead.

“It’s not exposing if it’s not true,” Alex quickly countered, making Thomas roll his eyes. He continued, “If not you, then who?”

Thomas gave him a look.

Alex stared at him for a long moment, before blinking and exclaimed, “Madison?”

“You’re awfully slow for a self-proclaimed genius.” Thomas leaned back on the couch, inspecting his nails. “Yes, Madison. He’s the one that pitched the idea and executed it. I merely watched from the sidelines.” He waved his hand. “Cheering on, if you would.”

Alex stared at a spot on the floor, brows furrowing. Madison was someone Alex admired as a man of class and dignity. Yes, he and Thomas were inseparable, but only the latter would dare dabble his hands into dirty work. Surely he would not steep that low, right? “But he was my friend…”

Thomas snorted and burst out laughing at the statement, slapping his palm on his knee. Alex looked up and flushed, wrapping his arms around himself. When he glared at him, the older man only raised a finger, trying to catch his breath between bouts of laughter. “I’m sorry,” he wheezed. “That’s so funny.”

“Now if you are quite done there,” Alex narrowed his eyes.

After a few more moments of hiccuping laughter, Thomas was finally able to keep his laughter at bay. “You really are something, huh,” he replied, grin still stretching wide across his face. “You don’t make friends here in DC, Alex. Merely acquaintances.” Thomas coughed, catching his breath. “Especially for people like us.”

Alex sniffed, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t know that your pastime consists of accusing your rivals of adultery with _acquaintances_.”

“It appears to be so.” Thomas shook his head to clear his hair from his face. He smiled, tilting his head. “You had come too close to pass that bill of yours, Alexander. We had to do something.”

“My financial plan would benefit our people,” Alex gritted out.

“Ah-ah. Not for agriculture,” Thomas chided, waggling his finger back and forth. “Our demographic would not be so happy for that.”

“But in the end the bill still passed.”

Thomas shrugged. “Ah, yes. Alas, we had failed to block that plan of yours. It’s my fault, really. I should’ve realised that Callender’s loyalty lies with no one.”

Alex snorted, muttering something under his breath.

“Cheer up, sweetcheeks,” Thomas smirked, clasping his hands behind his head. “I’m merely teaching you the ways of our dear Washington D.C.”

“And you think that I don’t already know?”

“Not if you spend these past few years hiding behind Washington’s back,” he said seriously. “I’m not merely taunting when I said that you are nothing without Washington.”

When Alex opened his mouth to object, Thomas raised a hand. “I’m not denying you your talents. I’m just stating the truths,” he tilted his head, looking straight in his eyes. “Surely you won’t expect yourself to even _be_ in this building if you hadn’t associated yourself with Washington.

“Face it, Hamilton. The only reason you could dabble in politics without ever doing dirty work is because your beloved Washington had your back,” Thomas sneered.

Alex swallowed. He didn’t deny it. “Why are you telling me this?”

Thomas sniffed, snuggling deeper into his couch. “I’m being honest. I wasn’t expecting for you to last this long.”

“I’m nothing if not resilient.”

“I could see that,” Thomas gave him a pointed look for interrupting him. “Turns out you are capable of leading a country. I suppose you’re not that bad of a brat the people on the Hill said you were.” His gaze looked something strangely near of fondness. “James would be proud. Too bad he can’t see it for himself.”

When Alex stayed quiet, Thomas snickered. “I never thought today would be the day I manage to silence the great Alexander Hamilton.”

He flushed and mumbled, “Whatever.” Grabbing his previously abandoned papers, he lied on his back on the couch and propped his legs on the armrest, trying to ignore Thomas’s stare.

“What is that?”

“What is what?”

“The papers,” Thomas nodded towards them. Alex huffed and held out his hand, and Thomas was quick to snatch the papers from it. His brows furrowed as he flip through it quickly, reading the contents. “Caskets? Place to lie in state? Place of burial? What...”

“Apparently one of my first jobs as president is to arrange my own funeral3,” Alex snorted, staring at the ceiling. “How fitting.”

“Well this is certainly depressing,” Thomas smacked his lips in distaste, reading Alex’s written notes on the papers. He frowned at a particular page. “Now if you think that you want to be buried while wearing this suit...”

Much later, when all of Alex’s papers with complete remarks were sent back to his secretary, Alex said, “I suppose this makes us acquaintances?”

Thomas chuckled. “I see you have learned fast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Jefferson had called Callender as “a poor creature...hypochondriac, drunken, penniless, and unprincipled,” but during when Callender flung his darts at the Federalists, Jefferson had glorified him as “a man of genius” and “a man of science fled from persecution.” In late June 1797, Jefferson was so pleased with Callender’s work with the Reynolds affair that he stopped by his lodgings to congratulate him and to buy copies of his scandalous _History_.Back  
> 2\. Adams had called his position as vice president as “the most insignificant office that ever the invention of man contrived or his imagination conceived.” Back   
> 3\. Coordination for the funeral is conducted by the army’s Military District of Washington and begins early in each presidential term, when a new president is asked to attend to the strange task of imagining his own funeral service.  
> By helping plan their own funeral, presidents are able to incorporate personal touches that can show their character and legacy on a national stage for the last time. In many ways, funeral services are final conversation with the nation, and illustrate something about the man and the way in which he wishes to be remembered.Back
> 
> So we could finally see Jefferson’s relationship with Alex! And yes, presidents do help arrange their own funerals, and I guess it’s fitting since the next chapter we will see Washington’s funeral so... yeah, I’m sorry.


	4. Like a Piece of Marble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of panic attack and dubious consent near the end.

It was overcast for both days, the sky constantly looking on the verge of rain. Alex had declared it the national day of mourning, the first for members of Congress and the vice president, the second for the first lady and Washington himself. Though it was inevitable and he had prepared long for it, Alex still squirmed for most of the service on the first day with Eliza being the only reason he didn’t throw up in front of the thousand that had come.

Since Washington and Martha’s body couldn’t exactly lie in state in the Capitol’s rotunda like other presidents would, they had laid them in the East Room, where Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy too had lain after their assassination. It gave a bad taste to Alex’s mouth, especially when he lay cold and awake that night, long after Eliza had fallen asleep beside him. The ticking on the wall reminds Alex that he still had three hours of sleep left, but he still can’t shift his thoughts from the bodies lying in repose one floor below him.

Alex is used to staying up all night, anyway.

Thomas was absent for most of the morning having to greet the foreign dignitaries at the airport himself. Since it was too much risk for Alex to personally go there, he stayed in the Residence while John helped him dress. The broadcasting nationwide had called for Eliza to oversee it with Angelica but she promised him she’d be back in time for the procession.

Alex hadn’t remembered greeting the presidents and prime ministers and kings and queens until he watched the news again that night. He likes to think that he did a good job, managing to squeeze a few trade deals or two for them to discuss at the upcoming G20 summit later.

The millions of people that turned up during the procession to the National Cathedral had probably given Tallmadge a headache for the security risks. Especially after Alex managed to convince him to let him and Eliza walk behind the caissons along with the riderless horse1. Thomas did not walk with them, instead riding behind in an armoured limo in case something happened to Alex and he needed to take over.

The mass itself was uneventful. Alex could only focus on the fact that his mom’s funeral was a lot smaller than this, him being the only one who showed up besides the priest. His father hadn’t bothered to show up, even his step-brother, Peter. Alex knows Peter is still alive. He wonders sometimes what he thought of him now that he’s not the disgraceful bastard of his mother anymore.

He droned through his eulogy with zero awareness. As if someone else was controlling him. There was supposed to be a joke in there somewhere about how Washington is so old schooled he thought ‘LOL’ meant ‘lots of love’, and Alex thinks he heard a chorus of watery laughs at one point but he could never be too sure.

Eliza squeezed his hand when he had returned to his seat. Didn’t have to say anything, just rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. He took a deep breath, lowering his face because he just _knew_ that the cameras were zooming on his face at that moment.

Later they went back to the Residence while the caskets were taken to Mount Vernon for a private burial. The entire ride back was silent, occasionally Tallmadge or André opening their mouths to speak before opting to stay silent. Alex just stared out of the window, watching as the cityscape passed by.

Their transport stopped by the West Wing foyer. He wasn’t sure if it’s because he was too immersed in his own head or because the car was soundproof, but his illusion of silence shattered the moment Tallmadge opened the door. He blinked as blinding flashes filled his vision and reporters tried to shove each other to get to Alex, if not for Tallmadge and André trying to restrain them.

_“Mr. President, what are your comments about the affair allegation?”_

_“Is the video real?”_

_“Does Eliza know?”_

_“Does it have a connection with how you are chosen as Treasury Secretary?”_

_“Mr. President!”_

Alex gaped. “Wha—“ He looked frantically at Eliza, and she appeared to be just as confused. Tallmadge gestured with his head as he pushed away reporters, telling Alex to go inside.

“Are you all right?” Alex asked as soon as they were inside the West Wing lobby. Eliza nodded, then looked at Alex with concern.

“Are _you_ all right?”

He grimaced but didn’t get to answer as Angelica rushed from the hallway to their left, presumably straight from her office. She frantically pushed the tablet in her hand into Alex’s.

“Watch.”

On the screen was Callender’s infamous blog, though not for the best of reasons, _The Spill_. Although Alex was quite familiar with it, the title of the page was what pulled his attention. In big, bold letters, it proclaimed, “Alexander Hamilton Had An Affair With President Washington!”

His eyes widened, and the video below it didn’t make it any better. It was a security footage of the corridor directly outside the Oval Office. Though judging from the date stamped below it, this was from three years ago, during the mid-terms.

It showed Alex walking into the view of the camera, before walking straight into the Oval Office without consulting with Washington’s secretary first. Of course, this was very common of him, and Eliza voiced his thoughts from over his shoulder, “I don’t understand?” just as the video fast-forward by itself. Callender has edited it.

After a few minutes had been skipped, Washington was seen talking to an aide outside his office before going in, closing the door behind him. Then it fast-forward again, but now for quite some time, before it played again half an hour later.

All colours drained from Alex’s face. He knows exactly what this is.

In the video Alex emerged out of the office, but this time even through the grainy image one could see that his tie was skewed, his hair was let loose over his shoulder and his posture was tense as he looked left and right, before bolting out of sight.

_“It was clear what they did,”_ the article below read shamelessly, and Alex’s cheeks flushed. _“To be honest it didn’t really surprise anyone. Now it really does make us wonder, how much of Hamilton’s career was his talents and how much of it was him whoring his way to the top of the food chain?”_

“He posted it this morning, just after the service started,” Angelica talked above the roaring in his ears. “The press went _insane_. They’re all waiting in the press briefing room. I tried to deflect but there’s only so much I could do.”

_“I tried to get a comment from President Hamilton himself during the gala earlier this week, but he avoided me for the rest of the night,”_ it said further down. _“I suppose you couldn’t be more obvious than that.”_

_More obvious than what?!_ Alex wanted to scream. Of course. That’s why Callender had come that night, even though he was greatly unwelcome. He was making it seem like he was trying to get a comment from Alex, and since he had to leave early that night to deal with the Al-Sakar video, it made him look like he was avoiding Callender, and it worked. _God, it worked._ The comments underneath it were all shaming Alex, and he exhaled shakily as he scrolled through them, saying how talentless he was and that he’s not supposed to be alive right now and that he was Washington’s plaything.

His hands were shaking by that time, and when Eliza pulled away the tablet to prevent him from reading anymore, he snapped.

Shoving his jacket into Eliza’s arms, he marched through where Angelica had come from, ignoring their call.

“Alex, _please_ , cool down for a moment,” came Eliza’s pleading voice from behind him, trying to keep up with his pace as he walked around a corner. He shook off Eliza’s hand from his shoulder and burst straight into the press briefing room. Cameras started to flash and every reporter in the room immediately jumped up from their seats and started throwing questions at him.

Walking up to the podium, he barely made it in front of the microphone before he snarled through it, voice scratchy, “You all make me _sick._ ”

The room immediately got quiet, cameras suddenly stopped flashing as though afraid that the mere sound of the shutter would make him explode. Despite this, Alex continued, pointing at them, “You all are _disgusting_. Today is his _funeral_ , and it is today you decided to play this little game?” Alex barked a laugh.

“He is getting buried six feet into the ground at this very moment! Someone who I regarded as my father is _dead_ and you accuse me of being his _whore_!” He slammed a fist on the podium, and a few reporters flinched.

Alex closed his eyes, trying to breathe. Angelica will hate this. “I was having a panic attack,” he revealed. “There was a storm that day and if you have any idea of my childhood, _which I’m sure you have because you have no sense of privacy_ , you would know that I am easily triggered with large storms and thunder.

“I was having a panic attack, and he helped me,” he hissed, making eye contact with everyone in the room. “I’m sorry that there is no new gossip for you disgusting people, but that’s all it is.”

_Fuck journalists,_ he thought, storming out of the room past Angelica and Eliza as the shouting picked up again.

  
  


_“He had a panic attack because of a_ storm _!_ ” One of the pundits exclaimed from one of the screens displayed. The others crowed, not unlike those hyenas in the Lion King. The pundit shook her head, rubbing her temple as though it is an issue she takes greatly. _“What if we suddenly face a crisis? We can’t have a leader who is afraid of_ thunder _like a little kid.”_

The reporters in the studio cackled, hitting the table repeatedly like it was the best joke they ever heard in their lives. One of them spoke up between laughs. _“Oh, but could you imagine? Our soldiers would be dying in the fields while he’d be crying in his room because it’s raining outside.”_

Alex sniffed at the statement, sipping his mug. He watched as they laughed some more, and on screen, John frowned. John was sent there alongside Eliza to do some damage control after his little stunt (as Angelica called it during her lecture to Alex) though Eliza didn’t join on camera. John cleared his throat to get the camera on him.

_“He was a soldier too. I myself served alongside him,”_ John sounded annoyed, trying to get his voice heard. When they finally stopped laughing, he continued, _“You can’t possibly undermine his abilities as a leader because he had childhood trauma. He has flaws, sure, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his strengths. I’m sure he could perfectly handle—”_

_“Oh, but—John, is it?—you don’t think that he is not quite stable to run a country?”_ A more serious reporter cut him off. John on the other hand looked like he was ready to kill a man. But still, the reporter continued, arms flailing, _“I don’t know if you heard it, but it was a storm! A natural phenomenon! We would all be damned if our president is depressed beca—“_

André grabbed the remote and switched off the TV. “I think you should eat something, sir.”

Alex stared at the black screen. “I think I could damn do whatever I want.”

“The kitchen made pasta because you hadn’t told them what you’d like for dinner.” André continued, ignoring Alex’s statement and set the tray he’s holding on the table. “I hope it’s okay with you?”

When Alex didn’t answer, he sighed and sat next to Alex before taking a set of fork and spoon, taking a plate for himself. Taking a big bite, he moaned between mouthfuls, “Oh, this is so good.”

Alex merely scrunched his nose. “Ew. Close your mouth when eating.”

“I knew I could get a reaction out of you,” André smiled smugly, swallowing.

“Whatever,” Alex rolled his eyes, before sipping his coffee once more. He smacked his lips and glared at André when he caught him staring. “What?”

The agent simply gave him a crooked grin. “Nothing,” he swirled his pasta around his fork. “It’s just that you look adorable when you’re mad.” He said, bringing the fork to his mouth.

“ _Excuse me_?”

André laughed at Alex’s offended expression. “I’m sorry,” he sincerely said, twirling his fork around. “Didn’t know that you took great offence in that.”

“Hell yeah, I do,” Alex grumbled just as his stomach growled loudly, making him blush. “Oh, damn you too,” he looked down and huffed.

André smirked and held his fork at Alex. “Eat.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. “I’m so not going to let you feed me.”

“Eliza is not here to force you to eat and Angelica is still angry with you,” André stated, tilting his head. “I could tell Angelica that you don’t want to eat—” Alex’s eyes widened at that, “—or, you could let me feed you.”

“You’re such a manipulator,” Alex grumbled, but opened his mouth anyway to allow the fork, if only for fear of Angelica hating him more. God knows she had enough of his bullshit to last two lifetimes.

André gave him a smug smile after Alex swallowed the pasta. “Huh,” Alex licked his lips, looking at the plate of pasta impressively. “That’s some good pasta.”

“Of course you get good pasta,” André rolled his eyes. “You live in the White House, Alex.”

“For better and for worse,” Alex sniffed at the reminder and frowned down at his coffee. He furrowed his brow. After a few quiet moments, he looked up. “Who do you think leaked that footage?”

André tapped the fork on his lower lip, considering, then said, “Jefferson.”

Alex raised a brow.

“He did try to frame you for the Reynolds thing,” the agent hurriedly explained.

“Washington told you?”

The agent smiled sheepishly. “Washington told me,” he affirmed.

“Not surprising,” Alex hummed, then admitted, “Jefferson _is_ a slimy one.”

And a slimy one indeed. He remembered when Thomas and Madison caused a government shutdown after Washington requested funds for national healthcare. Nothing that Alex couldn’t handle, being the Treasury Secretary. Then again, Thomas did say that he doesn’t like his current position. But framing Alex for an affair? What good will that do? There’s no Congress to impeach him right now anyway. He’s as good as invisible right now.

“That’s just a logical explanation,” André shrugged. “In truth, it could just be some intern wanting some dark cash from giving away information.”

Alex snorted. “For the safest building in the country, the White House has some serious security problems.” He gave him an unimpressed look. “And I thought it was your job.”

André smiled sheepishly. “I assure you, we are investigating this further.”

“Such a press-friendly statement,” Alex teased, before grimacing, thinking back about his outburst. _Yeah, that one’s not so press-friendly._

Tallmadge walked unceremoniously into the room, before halting in his steps when he saw Alex and André. Alex was convinced that he was going to chide André for not going home yet, but instead he said, “We found them.”

“The missile is set in position, sir,” McHenry turned the open briefcase around to face Alex, revealing a screen with a map of the area and below it, a fingerprint scanner.

Alex regarded the briefcase with sceptical eyes. He looked back at the large screen in front of the room. A grainy image of a warehouse was displayed, where it was believed to be Al-Sakar’s base. Alex bit his lips, trying to consider. “Are you sure we could do this?”

“Hundred percent, sir,” McHenry replied quickly. “We should do it now while we’re sure they’re still there.”

“I want to ask Laurens first,” Alex rushed to say, praying in his mind for John to arrive quickly.

“He’s still on the way from the studio,” McHenry said disapprovingly. “By the time he got here, they could have escaped.” He gestured to the screen. “It’s right there. Do it.”

Alex looked at it and looked again at the briefcase. Such an easy way to end someone’s life. Then again, he had done so numerous times during his service in the army. But his life was on the line back then. You either shoot, or be shot. The simplicity of this, just a scan of his fingerprint, felt way too wrong.

He looked at Angelica, and she simply smiled. She’s probably not mad anymore, though she’ll never be mad at him for more than an hour. _Not helping, Angie,_ he conveyed by rolling his eyes and she shrugged.

Taking a deep breath, he put his thumb on the scanner, and watched as the scanner loaded for a second before turning green, and the red dot on the screen representing the missile started to move towards the warehouse.

“ _Wait!_ ” John bursted into the room, his phone in one hand. “There’s civilians hostage in the building!”

“What?!” Alex's eyes widened, and everyone in the room was frozen in place. Spluttering, he flailed his arms. “Somebody do something!”

“I’m afraid we can’t redirect the missile, sir,” McHenry winced, and Alex panicked further.

An aide behind the room spoke up. “Sir, we have less than 15 seconds before impact.”

“Warn them!” Alex yelled, looking back at the screen and was horrified to see the tell-tale glow of a missile. “Radio them! Anything!”

But despite the frantic shuffling in the room, it was useless. The missile was too close, and they all watched horrified as the warehouse exploded and was blown into pieces. Alex covered his face with his palms. A chorus of gasps and curses floated around the room, and Alex wanted to tear his hair apart.

“You _fool_ ,” John hissed, and when Alex looked up, it was into John’s burning gaze. There were instances where he’d seen John’s hot temper, but none were directed to him. “ _You’re an idiot!_ I thought you said that we will wait until we can confirm it was them!”

“What was I meant to do?” Alex shot right back, shaking his head. “I didn’t know there were civilians in there!”

“Well maybe, if you, I don’t know, _ask me_ first then this won’t happen!” John gestured to the screen where the only thing visible was the fiery remains of the building. “I’m your security advisor for fuck’s sake!”

Alex bit back his anger. “Well I’m sorry that _my security advisor_ arrived too late,” he spat, vaguely aware that there’s other people in the room.

“I was cleaning up _your_ mess, _for God’s sake_!” John threw his arms. “I know that you’re still weeping over Washington or whatever but please do realise that _your actions have consequences_!”

Cold anger churned inside him. “ _Do not_ bring Washington into this,” Alex warned, voice low.

“Of course, you are still hung-up over him,” John laughed bitterly, running his hand through his hair. ”Boo-hoo, get over it! He’s already _fucking dead_!”

“I am trying my best, okay?” Alex hissed, pushing away the damned briefcase to better see John at the other side of the table. “Do you think I want to do this? I’m trying to protect our country!”

John shook his head. “ _Oh, of course_ , go on and play the hero,” he scoffed. “Protect our country _my ass_. There were _four_ people in that building, Alex. _Four!_ And you had killed them all!”

Alex let out a shaky breath at the new information. _Four people_. “But—I didn’t know that!” He sputtered, raising his palms. “I swear it’s not my intention! I was trying to kill Al-Sakar!”

“Oh, face it, Alex,” John snarled, his eyes burning bright with fury. He leaned closer, growling, “You’re as much of a murderer as the one that killed _your mother_.”

The flash of a knife and blood and screams ran through his vision. _A murderer._ Alex’s breath caught in his throat, and he very suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. He exhaled a shaky breath as John blinked, eyes wide, realising what he had said. The bright, sparking anger behind John’s eyes faded away, leaving only melancholic regret. John shook his head, leaning forward to grab Alex’s hand. “I—I swear, Alex I didn’t mean—“

Alex stepped away from John’s outstretched hand. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly through his mouth. After a moment of suffocating silence, he opened them, looking straight into his eyes, ignoring the hurt he found in them. He pulled his shoulder back and raised his chin. “Get the ambassador to my office,” he ordered despite the shaky tone in his voice. “I want all reports on the casualties sent to my secretary in the next hour.”

He barely heard the “Yes, sir,” as he walked out.

His head had felt like it was filled with lead, a product of him only eating a mouthful of pasta for the entire day. The splash of water made his face prickle with cold, and Alex looked up. Blood-shot eyes stared back. He rubbed it, frustrated when the irritation didn’t go away. The meeting with the ambassador had dragged on for ages since the man kept refusing to cooperate but Alex couldn’t really blame him.

His mother would tell him to cry as much as he wanted. _It’s okay, Alex. Boys can cry too,_ she would say. Ironic, he’d never cried again since the loan sharks had claimed her life (even though it was his father that had failed to pay his debts). Not even when the culprit was captured, frog-walked to court as he spat in front of Alex’s face, _“Bastard.”_

The police had said that he was smart to stab the man’s leg. They didn’t mention the fact that he had climbed over his own mother’s dead body to jump on the man to grab his knife. He overheard the doctors say that his mom was dying anyway from the high fever she was sporting before then. That it was a miracle that Alex had survived that same fever.

A voice startled him. “Are you okay? I heard about what happened downstairs.”

Alex looked at André through the gilded mirror. “I’m starting to think that you don’t have a home.”

“Someone’s babysitting my daughter,” André shrugged, stepping forward. He repeated, “Are you okay?”

“You have a daughter,” Alex huffed a laugh, gripping the marble sink tighter. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you’re okay,” he said. “I’m not letting you sit here by yourself.”

Alex scoffed, turning to face him but a sudden dizziness made him lean further over the counter. When André stepped forward to help him, he shook his head, eyes closed. “Four people dead. Forgive me for sitting here by myself.”

“Oh, Alex,” André sighed. “It’s a mistake. You can’t possibly know.”

“Fuck my life,” Alex laughed, covering his face. “I probably worsened our relationship with Iran.”

André shrugged. “You did the best you could for the ambassador.”

Alex glanced sharply at him, ignoring the pain behind his eyes. “How did you know?”

“I’m your agent,” he shrugged again.

“You’re probably thinking that I’m the worst president ever.”

”You are just stressed,” he said as though that’s the answer to everything. He walked forward, closing the space before them. “And no, you are a good president,” André tilted his head, and Alex felt as though he should cover himself for he could see his secrets through his eyes.

“Liar,” he hissed, the word floating in the room as he eyed wearily at the diminishing space between them. The headache plaguing him made itself known at that moment. _Heck yeah, I’m stressed._

“I’m not lying,” André sincerely said, stepping forward, effectively cornering him. Alex exhaled shakily, head still pounding as he felt the edge of the sink dig into his spine. What is happening? Despite this, André leaned further into his private space. “I care about you, Alex,” he breathed, caressing his cheek.

Alex just looked up, eyes wide at the change of tone in André’s voice. A lump formed in his throat and his lips trembled as he opened them, but before he could protest the taller man’s lips pressed against his, effectively freezing him. _No,_ Alex tried to say, but he found himself unable to push him away when strong arms began wrapping around him.

He swung blindly behind him, trying to grab something, but his shaking hand only managed to send the various toiletries clattering to the ground, the sound echoing throughout the bathroom. André’s lips moved fervently as the throbbing in his temple intensified, his vision becoming spotty. Desperate, he brought his hands to André’s lapels, gripping them tight then pushed with all his might.

The bathroom door swung open loudly just as he was thrown off balance. It was Tallmadge, eyes wide as he saw the compromising situation he just stepped into. André looked like a deer caught in headlights, while Alex was still gasping loudly for breath, chest heaving as he turned and gripped the sink for balance. The ache behind his eyes had returned with a vengeance.

André took one wide-eyed glance at Tallmadge before fleeing in a breeze, pushing past Tallmadge It was the first time Tallmadge looked like he did not know what to do, looking between the still swinging door and Alex. But he stayed there, though he looked warily at Alex who was still leaning against the counter.

“Sir?” Tallmadge breathed, stepping closer with his hands outstretched as though to placate a wounded animal. Alex winced, the unrelenting pounding in his head becoming worse.

A knock came on the door. “Alex?” came a familiar feminine voice. “Alex, are you in there?”

Eliza. _No, Eliza can’t know,_ he looked at Tallmadge with big, pleading eyes. He shook his head sharply before grimacing when the action sent a shooting pain through his temples. Tallmadge understood and nodded, walking out and closing the door behind him, avoiding Alex from being seen.

Muffled voices floated through the thick door as Alex tried to stand back up, albeit shakily. Tallmadge got back in, immediately rushing to Alex as he said, “I told her that you’re not here.”

“Leave,” Alex whispered, glancing at the mirror to see him visibly startle, frozen in the middle of a step. Tallmadge opened his mouth to protest but Alex looked at him sharply. _“Leave.”_

After a few moments of awkward silence, he relented. “Sir,” Tallmadge nodded curtly before walking out, leaving Alex alone again.

Alex looked back at the mirror. He’ll need to get out of the bathroom soon, but he can’t look like this, lips swollen and eyes puffy.

Alex rubbed at his face harshly, relishing the sting as he focused on his task with military precision. His hair band was nowhere to be seen, so he ran fingers through his hair to slick it back. He pulled off his tie and looped it several times around his palm before shoving it into his pocket. He took a step back. Feeling oddly suffocated, he clawed at his throat, popping his collar button.

He set his expression somewhere between a friendly smile and a calm facade while rolling his shoulder, setting them back. He bit back his tears as he walked out and was instantly flanked with three agents as he made his way to the Residence elevator. Tallmadge tried to catch his eyes from his side but he stared forward, occasionally nodding his head when a staff or aide greeted him. For someone who is constantly surrounded by people, he felt strangely lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. A single honor guard will march on foot holding the reins of a caparisoned, riderless horse with a set of boots reversed in the stirrups, symbolizing a fallen warrior who will never ride again which also betokens the commander's parting look on his troops, who march behind. Back
> 
> Oof. We got a lot to unpack here.
> 
> We get to see Alex’s childhood in this universe! Yeay! And we also have finished Act 1! Yeay again! I planned the whole of Act 2 and 3 already, but that last scene was supposed to happen somewhere else, so now I’m fretting over how to continue with the plot for the second act. But act three had escaped unscathed, and I’m so excited to write it out!
> 
> I guess we’ll see together how this will turn out later, and I’d love to hear your speculations and theories in the comments! Until then, stay safe!


	5. Interlude

A sliver of sunlight cast through the windows near the ceiling, illuminating the room with daylight glow even though they were partially underground. Hercules stirred his coffee while waiting for the search results to come up. It was simple, really. He just filtered all outgoing calls that were made from inside the White House on the day of the attack. Then, bam. Suspect. So easy that he could do it while balancing a spoon on his nose.

So he did.

Cross-eyed, he moved his hand carefully so as to not mess up the balance and cause the spoon to fall. A few clicks later he went ahead and pressed enter.

“What are you doing?”

He jumped, causing the spoon to fall from his nose and ricochet off the desk to hit him in the chin. “Aww, fuck, Ben,” he cursed, rubbing his chin while leaning forward to grab the spoon off the floor. “Coulda’ used a warning.”

Tallmadge was not amused. “I was expecting you to do your work, Mulligan.”

Herc smiled sheepishly, scratching his neck. “Well there really wasn’t anything else I could do, I mean I could always go hack some banks or whatever but I don’t think you’ll—“

A ding produced from his computer and both Tallmadge and Herc shifted their attention to it. Tallmadge squinted. “You subscribe your emails to _The Spill_?”

“Best be ahead of the news,” Herc shrugged, clicking on his mail. “Besides, I need some hot tea now and then.”

It sent them to The Spill website, and Tallmadge cocked his brow. The door behind them opened, and André burst in, gasping, holding his phone up. “Have you read this?”

Tallmadge looked sharply at the sight of him, but didn’t say anything as André shied away from the glare. Herc spoke up, breaking the tension while eyes still glued to the monitor. “Uh, guys… I’m pretty sure this is like, a national security risk?”

Tallmadge leaned forward and squinted. “Oh, shit.”

-·=»‡«=·-

“We’ll need to search your office in case of bugs, sir,” Tallmadge explained, clasping his hands behind his back.

The group watched as Alex stabbed a piece of potato aggressively with his fork. “I’m eating taters in the Oval Office as the world burns,” he sighed ruefully. He looked up at Tallmadge, twirling his fork. “Do what you need. I’ll just be right here.”

André walked behind Tallmadge, and Alex lowered his face, feeling his breathing getting constricted. Eliza looked at him worrily from her place among the couches. “Do you need some water?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he offered her a smile. Eliza frowned deeper. Before she could retort, Thomas burst into the office, Aaron close on his heels.

“What the fuck, Hamilton,” Thomas exclaimed exasperately, as he marched right to the front of his desk, hands on his waist. “I want an explanation, right now.”

Alex smirked. “Back to last names, I see.”

Thomas slammed both of his hands on the desk, making half of the people in the room flinch. Tallmadge looked at Thomas sharply, but Alex waved him off. The vice president just leaned forward, face inches from Alex’s. “You managed to kill four civilians on foreign soil, and _somehow_ that leaked out.”

“Geez, no need to be so blunt,” Alex glared right back, then munched on his potato, maintaining eye contact with him, if only just to infuriate Thomas more. Thomas groaned and threw his hands.

“There’s nothing you can do, anyway,” Alex sighed after swallowing. “I had settled it with the ambassador already.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “What did he want?”

“Well, he was ranting about how the Americans are stupid and dumb so I sa—“

“What did he want, Alex?” Thomas pressed.

Alex smiled sheepishly. “Uh, complete immunity for Al-Sakar?”

A chorus of groans went up in the room. Alex furrowed his brows. “What?”

“You had killed civilians while hunting for Al-Sakar,” Angelica said. “To grant them a pardon? That’s…” she waved her hand.

“Counterintuitive?” John offered, but shrank back down when Angelica gave him a glare.

Aaron rubbed his temple. “Just, try not to leak this one,” he sighed, then muttered something under his breath.

Alex huffed. “Not my fault,” he mumbled, chomping down another potato. The group continued talking among themselves, trying to figure out how to move the media’s attention from Alex accidentally killing four civilians. Thomas rolled his eyes, snatching a potato from his plate, ignoring Alex’s protests.

“Uh, excuse me?”

They all whipped their heads to the door. Alex smiled widely, coming out from his desk and gesturing to the sheepish man to come in. “Nate!”

“Who is this?” Angelica whispered, turning her head slightly as to not be obvious.

“Nathan Hale,” Eliza leaned closer to her and whispered back, “One of Alex’s random friends he has around the building. He works under John.” She pursed her lips. “They say he was a spy for the army but nobody knows for sure.”

Just as she said that, Nathan turned towards them and both of them froze. He gave them a sunny smile, to which the sisters reciprocated, albeit forced.

Thomas frowned at the bundle of white fur in Nate’s hands. “What in the devil’s name is that?”

“This is a cat, sir,” Nate supplied helpfully and Thomas grumbled, muttering something like _I know what a cat is_ under his breath.

Alex skipped over and picked the cat up in his hands, holding it up to them. “Guys, meet Alexander,” he exclaimed proudly, before mushing his face into the cat’s cheeks with a goofy smile.

The cat meowed.

Thomas’s left eye twitched. “You named a cat… after yourself.”

“Not me, Martha did,” Alex said, squishing the cat against his chest. It snuggled further into his arms, and Eliza cooed, walking over.

“She named it Alexander because they’re both loud and they both like it when Washington pat their head,” Aaron explained exasperatedly to Thomas, who seemed even more flustered by the new information.

“I… don’t want to know that—“

“You’re such a cute kitty,” Eliza stroked its head, and it preened under her attention, purring, and Alex could see that everyone in the room was melting. “Where did you find him?” She asked, eyes still on Alexander.

“He was in the basement’s kitchen,” Nate explained, bouncing on his heels. “I think he’s been there since the night of the attack, but I’ve given him some tuna.”

Eliza picked the cat from Alex’s arms and stroked through its thick fur, and Alex watched the scene with adoration.

“Sir?” Tallmadge spoke up, and they looked back to see Washington’s portrait on the ground, turned over. Between Tallmadge’s fingers was a small, black object, no larger than a button. It was hiding behind the portrait the whole time.

André blanched. “Is that the bug?” He asked, rushing from the bookcases to Tallmadge. The other nodded solemnly, dropping it in André’s open palm.

“Okay, but how could that even be in here?” Angelica asked, looking between Tallmadge and Alex.

Tallmadge considered for a moment. “Well, really the only ones we’ve approved to come in here besides all of us is your secretaries and aides, sir,” he said, looking at Alex. “Unless, you brought anyone else?”

“Nope,” Alex shook his head. “Besides, my secretaries are all Washington’s. I trust them. As for the ambassador, he was never in here by himself. He sat on the couch the entire time.” Alex huffed, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. “He was really cranky.”

Tallmadge nodded, gears already spinning in his head. “Okay, we’ll have to—“

“Alexander!” Aaron exclaimed and Alex turned around, but he was actually lunging towards the cat who had somehow climbed on the shelves, pawing at the gun on it. Eliza looked down her arms in confusion, and sure enough the cat’s not there.

“What—why did you put your gun there?” Tallmadge asked exasperatedly as he too ran towards the cat, and André raised his hands in deference.

The cat tilted its head in curiosity and swatted at the gun, watching as it came crashing down. Aaron and Tallmadge lunged for it, but only succeeded in banging their heads together in a bundle of mess.

A hand held out, and the gun plopped right into it. “Glock 19,” Nathan observed, weighing it in his hand. He looked up towards the openly appalled agents. “I thought you guys used something else.”

When everyone just looked back in shock, Nate just shrugged. “I know guns,” he explained simply.

“That should not be in your hands.” André walked over and snatched the gun from Nate’s hand before holstering it back.

“Why are you there?” Angelica asked, eyes narrowed.

“I was looking around.”

“As we were,” Tallmadge got up from the floor, rubbing his head while helping Aaron up, “I would wish to speak to you, sir,” he said, ignoring Alexander’s paws playing with his hair behind him. He eyed Jefferson and the rest discreetly. “In private.”

Alex noticed, and he shrugged. “Sure.” He grabbed another tater on the way out.

  
  


“In normal conditions, we would not tolerate any kinds of behaviour even nearing that,” Tallmadge said, shifting his weight. “But I truly don’t understand why you would want to keep him, unless…” he looked at Alex knowingly.

Alex widened his eyes, vigorously shaking his head. “No! I’d never in a million years cheat on Eliza!” He exclaimed, then lowered his volume when Tallmadge eyed the closed door in warning.

“I looked at his files last night, and I read about his daughter,” Alex admitted, chewing his lips. Tallmadge sighed, knowing where it was going. “Forgive me if I was intruding, but she has cancer,” Alex said, leaning forward as to avoid being overheard. “You know this, Ben. I can’t fire him! He’ll never get another job if his records show that he’d been fired by the president.”

Tallmadge looked down and shook his head, tapping his shoes repeatedly against the hardwood floor. He sighed again, “Fine. But just know that I’m not happy with this.”

“I know.” Alex plopped on a seat. “Did you tell anyone about what happened last night?”

“No, sir.”

“Good,” Alex nodded. “Keep it that way.”

Tallmadge nodded sharply at Alex, turning towards the door when he realised Alex didn’t even glance at him. “I’ll see myself out.”

-·=»‡«=·-

Hercules leaned against the icy wall as he watched the Potomac’s slow current, the river breeze making him grip his jacket tighter around his body. He checked his watch. Thirty minutes had passed since their agreed time. He sighed, scratching his temples. This is James Callender we’re talking about. Good manners were not his best fit.

Perhaps if they meet at the White House the journalist would be more inclined to actually be on time, but everyone have this unspoken agreement to never allow Callender in a 2-mile-radius from the building. For the better, he suppose. It was already hard for him to actually convince Callender to meet him. It means back and forth emails from both of them, until Hercules revealed that he will not be put on trial for leaking the security footage. Of course, as long as he tells them where he got them.

Hercules hummed, tapping his feet impatiently. This will not do. He got back on his feet, walking back towards where he parked the black government vehicle. He could always use his own car. Being in the Secret Service is not necessarily a high-paying job, but he saved enough by living alone. But hey, if he could save some gas by stealing a car from the White House, he’s not above it. And he’s sure Tallmadge won’t mind.

He walked down the length of the pavement, whistling, his hands deep in his pockets. He’ll just bombard Callender’s office tomorrow if he truly doesn’t want to cooperate.

A dog’s bark echoed through the banks in the dark night. He looked up and large stray dog came into his vision, sniffing through something in the river. Probably trash. Hercules went down the bank to shoo it off. The dog’s tail was wagging, and Hercules craned his neck to see a long lump of… _something?_

“Hey, doggo,” he said, and it turned around, growling and baring its teeth before running away. Not a friendly one, then. His skills with animals are not that good anyway. He sighed, thinking about how to drag back the trash out of the river. He may not be good with dogs, but he’s not a complete asshole to the environment.

Hercules blinked again, registering the foul smell. _Oh, that is definitely not trash._ He leaned in, grimacing when his fingers went through squishy, soggy mass. Turning his face away from the smell, he turned it over with a grunt, and he stepped back.

It was James Callender. Waterlogged, blood soaked, bloated, albeit dead, James Callender.

“Holy pepperoni,” Hercules cursed. He did not sign up for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “In 1803, James T. Callender drowned, apparently falling in the James River due to intoxication—although there was some speculation among Federalists that his death may not have been an accident, as he was due to testify in a highly publicised trial later that month.” - Wikipedia
> 
> Alexander the Cat is here! He’s supposed to come out a few chapters ago, so I am relieved he’s been introduced. And Callender is dead? Oops? Blame the historical influence on this fic. But for real, if you’re interested, you could watch the episode of Drunk History on Youtube about Callender’s demise.
> 
> Next we’ll really get into Act 2, so buckle up, ‘cause shits about to get real.


	6. In the Dark

**_ACT II - THE TRAITOR_ **

_“An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gates freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself.” — Marcus Tullius Cicero_

“—And so the president has denied any sort of involvement with the death of _The Spill_ journalist, James Callender,” Angelica closed her file. “Questions?”

Dozens of hands shot up, and Angelica groaned internally, randomly pointing at the back. “Yes?”

The reporter she picked beamed, clutching his notepad closer to his chest, his pen clicking wildly. He looked rather young and strangely excited to be there. _A newbie untainted by the industry,_ Angelica thought as she vaguely heard the question he asked.

A couple of seconds passed, and she blinked, realising that everyone was looking at her expectantly. "I'm sorry, what's your question?"

"The abolishment of pennies1?" He repeated, waving his pen. "The plan that President Hamilton had proposed while he was in the Treasury?"

“Oh,” she furrowed his brows. Do people still care about that kind of stuff? “What about it?”

The reporter shifted in his seat. “Um, what’s his plan now?”

“Currently the president is focusing on urgent matters only, what with the ongoing investigations and also him choosing his new cabinet members.” Angelica would feel bad for him at another time, but now she don’t have time for stupid questions.

She pointed at a girl on the front row who was waving her hand enthusiastically. “Yes?”

The girl flipped back her hair. “There were allegations that the president ordered the assassination of Callender,” she said. “Comments?”

Angelica raised an eyebrow. “Well, like I said, the president has denied any allegation—”

“Well, yes, of course he denies it. But I mean, did he _really_?”

“Do you work for Buzzfeed Unsolved?” Angelica deadpanned. “No.” She waved her hand. “Next.”

“Okay, but we have evidence that there’s an agent in suits there last night.” The girl raised her voice again, unwilling to let it go. Angelica closed her eyes exasperatedly, willing to God that she’d have the strength as to not smack the girl in the face.

“Half of D.C consists of men in suits. Besides, the body was found by an agent in the first place,” Angelica sighed. She doesn’t have time for this. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m sure whatever you have there is just some agents doing his investigations.” She pointed out, “The Secret Service does not serve entirely at the pleasure of the President.”

“So why does the picture taken two hours _before_ the time of murder?” At that, the whole room went silent, everyone now focusing on her. Angelica froze. The girl smirked, now that she got her attention. “If it’s not by the order of the President, then what does the Secret Service have to say? Surely there’s something more to it.”

Angelica’s eyes went wide, her tongue twisted. She was basically accusing the President of murdering a journalist. “We’ll need to check back on that,” Angelica breathed out. “Alright everyone, thank you for your time!” She grabbed her files and sprinted out of the briefing room as fast as her heels allowed her, ignoring the eruption of questions left in her wake.

“You’re out early,” Aaron stated, looking up warily from his computer as Angelica slammed his office door behind her, catching her breath. This was not the first time people barged into his office, and unfortunately it seems that it will not be the last either. He narrowed his eyes. “Is there something wrong?”

She waved her hand, gesturing to his monitor, unable to say something else. “Check the briefing just now.”

Aaron furrowed his brow but complied anyway as Angelica made her way to his desk. He looked at her uncertainly but still clicked on the latest news.

“Oh, my,” Aaron winced while scrolling through, and Angelica hummed in agreement, leaning on his desk. He looked up, cocking a brow. “Does Alexander know?”

She raised a shoulder. “No idea. I guess he will after this.” She glanced at him. “What should we do?”

“This is John’s department,” Aaron shook his head, rubbing his face. “I don’t know. If the Secret Service’s involved, and _if_ Alex knows, then that means...”

He made a funny expression as he trailed off, and Angelica gasped when she realised what Aaron was thinking, smacking his shoulder hard. “You could not _possibly_ think that Alex would kill someone.”

“I mean, if you think about it he has been skittish lately,” he rubbed his offended shoulder, wincing, then added almost way too casually, “Presidents do shady shit all the time.”

Angelica was horrified.

She shook her head automatically in denial. “No. That’s not possible,” she said firmly, palms splayed open on the desk. “There’s probably a rogue agent out there and we really need to up the investigation.” She nodded to herself, gears moving in her head. “I’ll warn Alex about this then I’ll go talk to John—”

“I thought you’re still mad at him for what he said to Alex downstairs—”

She turned sharply and glared at him. “Not the point, Aaron.”

“Okay,” he said, palms up in surrender. “Just saying.”

“Hush,” she rolled her eyes, automatically straightened up and headed towards the door. “Anyway, there’s probably a chance that you’ll be bombarded by the press when you step outside,” she warned off-handedly, and Aaron groaned at the prospect of being harassed by the press. She held up a finger. “Don’t say anything.”

“I know what to do, Angelica,” Aaron sighed, shifting his attention back to whatever work he had earlier while waving his hand dismissively. “I’m not Alex.”

“Fair enough.”

  
  
  
  


“Please, help me talk to him,” John pleaded, immediately catching Eliza off guard as she stepped out of the lobby.

Eliza sighed when she saw that it was John, immediately returning to her phone as she walked faster to try and shake him off. “I’m not sure if you could see it, but I’m quite busy. I’ll meet you in your office later.”

It was a blatant lie, and they both knew it. John sighed exasperatedly, rubbing his temples. “Look, I know that I messed up, but I was just stressed that day and—”

Eliza groaned and turned around on her heels, causing John to step back to avoid her flailing hand. “So are we all but we don’t really expose the president’s terrible childhood to everyone, now do we?”

“I know, I know, Angelica already lectured me—“

“Try to control your temper, for God’s sake,” she snapped. “You nearly flip everyone off at the studio that day too.” When John lowered his head, she sighed, putting a hand to her forehead. She continued, voice significantly softer, “It was fine when you were just a speechwriter but you’re one of the president’s advisors now. It gives a really bad impression of the administration.”

John scratched the back of his head, looking genuinely chastened. Her expression softened. She squeezed his shoulder firmly, and he looked up, eyes hopeful. “I’ll talk to Alex about you,” she assured, and John smiled gratefully.

“Thank you so much, ‘Liza.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “In your defense, I too think that launching missiles to a warehouse is quite extra.”

He laughed awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. She just patted his shoulder again and spun around, continuing her way to the Oval Office.

She smiled at the swarm of staff greeting her as she passed by. The attitude of her colleagues had changed greatly since Alex came into office, and she didn’t know how to feel. To be fair they were kind before, but now there was this almost cautious way of them addressing her, as though they were aware of the possibility of her occupying the East Wing one day.

Such concepts were foreign for her. Eliza knows what she was getting into when she started working for Washington’s campaign. Heck, she was ready to fight whatever obstacles were going to head her way when she started dating Alex when he was the Treasury Secretary, but never in a million years did she ever thought of being the First Lady. Of course, there’s the unspoken agreement between her and Alex that he will try and aim to become president one day, but that had seemed so far away then.

It is terrifying to see how life would lead them in the most unexpected way. Or wonderful, depending on how power-hungry you are. For Alex, it seemed to be in the middle. She knows for sure he’s not above it. As noble as you claim you are, you can’t ever be in D.C. without thinking even for a second of being in a higher station of power.

Only one of Alex’s secretary raised his head when she stepped into the office adjoining the Oval, the rest too focused on their work to even notice her. It seems that Alex still maintained the iron grip he had upon his staff since his days in the Treasury.

“Is he available now, Luke?” She asked the one that noticed her.

He smiled in response, nodding. “The Vice President just left. He’s got nothing now.”

“Thank you,” she smiled back, walking through the door and into her boyfriend’s office.

The sight that greeted her made her smile turn into a frown. Alex was slumped over his desk, face down on a mess of papers. “Is something bothering you?” She asked, closing the door behind her gently with a click. He visibly jumped in his seat, turning towards her.

“Hey,” Alex greeted, but Eliza only frowned further when she noticed the weary smile and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

She walked towards his desk. “You’ve been looking exhausted these past few days,” she approached behind him, running her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. He hummed and melted under her touch, and she tilted her head. “Stress much?”

Alex closed his eyes, letting familiar fingers run through his scalps. “Yeah, pretty much.” He looked up. “What do you have for me?”

“Can’t I just meet my favourite boyfriend?” She teased, but then furrowing her brows when Alex didn’t immediately jump into their usual banter, instead sighing deeply.

“I’m sorry, Betsey,” he gave her an apologetic smile, reaching a hand up to hold hers. “I’m just tired.” He sighed again, looking at the mess on his table. “I’ll need to sort this out.”

Eliza frowned again when he changed the subject but moved anyway to help him rearrange the monstrosity that is the amount of papers he had. For some time they just worked in silence, until she decided to break it while putting away his pens— _why do you need twenty fountain pens?—_ “Dad asked about you.”

“Oh,” his tense face softened. “How is he?”

“Same as usual,” she replied. “Bored, I guess.”

Alex snorted. “He had lived his past twenty years in the circus that is American politics,” he remarked, throwing a file to the corner. “Of course he’s bored.”

The desk was tidy again (or at least, manageable), and he looked up, meeting with her unwavering gaze. A few seconds passed of them staring at each other until Eliza sighed, forcefully turning Alex’s chair away from the desk— _“Hey!”_ —and plopped right onto his lap, bringing her lips to his.

After they were very much breathless, Alex pointed out, “We were just talking about your dad so this is really weird.”

“Shut up,” she pecked his lips again, then rested her head on his chest, “I feel like I don’t see you anymore.”

“Sorry, Betsey,” Alex sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ears. He gave her a playful look. “I have like, this new job and I don’t know if you know it but it’s not really time friendly—”

She punched him hard in the ribs, prompting him to groan. “I hate you.”

“I love you too,” he wheezed back, and her heart fluttered at the statement. She smiled in earnest, bringing her lips once more to his.

“You really need to talk to John,” she mumbled against his lips, and he pulled back much to her disappointment, turning his head away.

“I know,” his jaws clenched.

“He’s really sorry.”

“I know.”

“And it’s taking a toll on you,” she placed a hand on his chest. When he opened his mouth to disagree, she shushed him. “You can’t fool me, Alexander. Or Angelica. Or John.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Of course I can’t,” he said bitterly, prompting Eliza to get off him and on her feet. She frowned.

A knock was heard, and Nathan popped his head in, a little breathless. “Sir. We found Majid Nassar,” he said without elaborating further, glancing at Eliza.

Alex nodded, his earlier exhaustion seemingly vanished. He swiftly got on his feet and grabbed his coat. “I have to go. I’ll meet you upstairs later,” he said without looking at her as he walked out, and she tried to quell the hurt at being dismissed so easily.

  
  
  
  


“They just said that they found them?” Angelica asked for the thirteenth time, prompting Eliza to give her a look. Her sister just shrugged, bringing a piece of chicken to her mouth. “I mean, that’s pretty vague.”

“Trust me, I know,” Eliza sniffed lightly, playing with her takeout on the desk. “Have you seen Aaron or John?”

Her sister shook her head. “Nope. They haven’t come up yet.”

The West Wing was buzzing with the alleged capture of a terrorist, though only a handful knew about Al-Sakar. But still, this was a big deal, especially to those whose family members were at the Capitol that cursed night.

Eliza and Angelica themselves were dying to know the details. No one knew if there were casualties in the troops, or if the terrorist was dead. The ones that can know were all still in the Situation Room since three hours ago. Eliza had taken into hiding in Angelica’s office as to avoid questions from everyone, even if she too knew nothing.

“I guess the thing about the rogue agent is forgotten, then?” Eliza asked.

“I myself am intrigued,” Angelica admitted. She leaned closer. “Don’t you think Callender’s death is pretty weird?”

“He’d been found drowned face-down in the Potomac, Angie,” Eliza reminded. “Everything about that is suspicious.”

Angelica hummed, “True.” She continued digging into her food.

Eliza gave her a sharp look over the desk. “There’s something you want to ask me,” she stated.

Angelica simply raised her shoulders, and when Eliza narrowed her eyes, she finally relented. “Fine. Everyone’s dying to know. What’s going on with Alex?” She asked, setting down her fork. “He’s been frowning all day and it’s not a good look.”

Eliza pursed her lips, suddenly feeling all appetite for the takeout leaving her. “I don’t know either.” She admitted, putting the lid back on her half eaten meal and pushing it away. “I guess the stress is finally catching up on him.”

“Perhaps,” Angelica replied as she grabbed Eliza’s leftover, helping herself into it. Eliza waited for her to say more, but she didn’t, simply digging into her newfound food.

A loud cheer erupted from behind the office door, causing them both to exchange looks. Just as they were about to go out to investigate, the door opened loudly, and both Aaron and John came in, looking weary.

“Care to provide us peasants with some information?” Angelica asked idly, looking back to her food.

Eliza frowned when Alex hadn’t emerged alongside them. “Where’s Alex?”

John shook his head, shrugging off his suit jacket and dumping it somewhere in the room. “He’d gone to see Nassar’s body himself at the airport.” He took off his shoes, hauling himself on the couch and groaned loudly, stretching like a cat.

“Wait, body?” Angelica asked incredulously, before a wide smile stretched on her face. “He’s been killed?”

“If you had cared to check your phone then you would know,” Aaron glanced at her.

Angelica shrugged. “It’s my lunchtime.”

A loud moan from the couch caused Eliza to furrow his brow. John looked up, sheepish. “Sorry. I feel like my spine had rusted from standing around for so long.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t pissed him off you would actually get offered a chair,” Aaron simply replied, making a beeline to the stack of takeouts on Angelica’s desk. John cocked his head, looking slightly miffed. Aaron opened a container, frowning when he discovered that the contents had gone soggy for sitting around so long.

Eliza blinked. “So now what?”

“Since Alex’s out, Jefferson is in charge in the building right now,” John shrugged, and Eliza let out a squawk at the name. John smirked, gesturing towards Aaron. “Aaron in particular is not so happy with this.”

The man in question gave them an exasperated look. “I am particularly annoyed at the President’s choice of who to run the White House in his absence,” he commented, looking much more than just annoyed, though much of it was directed to the sad piece of chicken in front of him. “We have our own kitchen but you still order takeout from that crap restaurant,” Aaron looked at Angelica with disdain.

Swallowing her own food, she held out her hand. “If you don’t want it, give it to me.”

Aaron sighed, staring at the container for a few seconds before finally deciding his grumbling stomach was not worth the wait, grabbing a fork and sitting down on a spare chair. Still, Angelica made a noise of disappointment.

“What about that agent?” Eliza pressed further, seeing John fully relaxed on the couch.

John shook his head. “Tallmadge and Alex won’t tell us.”

Angelica huffed, drinking her water. Miraculously Eliza’s previous leftovers were already finished. “And here I thought you were part of that ‘secret agent society’,” she said, complete with air quotes.

John gave her a withering look. “Clearly circumstances have led me far from them.”

“It has indeed,” Aaron agreed. “I still don’t quite understand the hush.”

They all looked at John. The man shrugged, getting on his feet. “Time to get back to my office,” he simply said, walking out unceremoniously.

“And that’s... code for it is past our security clearance,” Eliza sighed.

“There’s something bigger than all of us,” Aaron eyed the closing door with distaste. “They just won’t tell us what it is.”

-·=»‡«=·-

Alex clasped his hands behind his back, watching through the one-way glass as both Wolcott and Tallmadge circled around the cuffed man at the table. So far the only thing that get past Majid Nassar’s lips was _“Fuck you.”_

The fewer people that know about Nassar’s survival, the better. And those few people were his agents, General McHenry, Wolcott and his advisors, a few staff at the prison complex and the SEAL team who captured Nassar. John himself knew, although not Aaron. He supposed the team did a great job at pretending that they had killed Nassar, even though Alex personally had contacted them before the mission with the instructions of capture, not kill.

André’s presence was like a wave of heat behind him, though he didn’t let his face betray any emotion. He felt so guilty for that night, for himself and for Eliza, but he knew he couldn't possibly drop the confession now. Not in this situation.

Wolcott slammed a hand on the table, the sound loud through the mic they had in the room. Nassar flinched as Wolcott lowered his head to face him eye to eye. _“We had played nice for two hours now,”_ he spat. For such a cheerful man, he was terrifying when he’s in a work mood. _“You could either admit that the attack was not your doing, or you could rot in jail_ for life _.”_

When Nassar didn’t answer, merely maintaining a tight face, Tallmadge looked up from his place behind Nassar, and shook his head at the glass. _It’s futile. He’s not going to confess like this._

“We could always use more… forceful tactics to get him to open his mouth, sir,” an FBI agent said over Wolcott’s threats that were filtering through the speakers. Alex could hear André shuffling uncomfortably behind him at the suggestion.

“I agree,” the prison warden standing beside him nodded. “I don’t think we’ll have any other choices.”

 _Forceful tactics,_ Alex almost scoffed out loud. They meant torture, and he felt nauseous just thinking about it. “Just wait,” he said instead.

Wolcott was now actively speaking, circling around Nassar like a lion cornering its prey, and Alex felt a shiver run down his spine. _“But you don’t care if you get locked up, do you?”_ Wolcott continued, nodding to himself. _“No. You knew you were gonna get caught.”_

Nassar himself looked confused despite lowering his face, furrowing his brow as to wonder where Wolcott was heading. But Alex knew where this was going. He’d seen Washington do this before to a political enemy.

 _“But your family,”_ Wolcott said, and Nassar’s face immediately shot up, all colours drained. Wolcott’s expression hadn’t changed, but one could see the glint in his eyes as he whispered, _“Your wife and son.”_

Nassar clenched his fists above the table, teeth baring in defense. _“You would not dare to touch them,”_ he spat out. Wolcott just looked at him with disinterest, even as Tallmadge tilted his head, interested to see where it’ll go.

 _“We know where your family is,”_ Wolcott cocked his head. Meanwhile, Nassar looked like he would bite off his head if he could. But the director simply continued, _“But, if you tell us the truth, we could arrange for you to be flown back to your country and you would be back home in one piece.”_

“Sir!” André exclaimed in protest. The warden and FBI agent jumped, looking perplexed as to why a Secret Service agent dared to raise his voice. He didn’t pay them any mind. “We couldn’t just let him go like that!”

“Why?” Alex glanced at him through what little reflection the glass gave them. “Do you have a problem?”

“I—” André shook his head, lowering his face. “No sir.”

The warden and the FBI agent shifted at the new tension in the room. Alex clenched his jaw, wrapping his arms around himself as he fought the need to bite his nails.

 _“Fine,”_ Nassar finally said. André walked closer to the glass entranced, stopping beside Alex. He tried not to flinch.

 _“We did not do it,”_ Nassar said, shoulders slumped, defeat and exhaustion finally showing on his face. Alex let out a shaky exhale. The four casualties at the warehouse were for nothing.

Both Wolcott and Tallmadge showed no signs of surprise, and the latter put a hand on Nassar’s neck, causing him to flinch. _“We already know that,”_ he calmly said, opposite of Wolcott. Nassar tensed under the touch, not out of hurt but out of fear. _“Tell us who did it.”_

 _“We don’t know,”_ Nassar snarled. Wolcott scoffed at the statement, obviously a lie. Tallmadge raised a brow.

Alex shook his head, biting his lips. He looked at his watch. It was getting way too late. He still got tomorrow’s briefings sent by his aides to read overnight, and also the workload abandoned on his desk. They'll have to do this another day. “Bring them back in,” he ordered. As the warden went inside the interrogation room to call Tallmadge and Wolcott, Alex could have sworn that Nassar’s eyes pierced straight through the glass, glaring straight at him.

-·=»‡«=·-

Eliza sipped on her hot chocolate, wrapping her hands tightly around the mug. She already had dismissed the butler, assuring him that he shouldn’t wait for Alex because it’s _goddamn two in the morning and you should get some sleep._

Kicking off her heels, she relaxed against the sofa, sighing as she’s finally got to have some alone time after being in the noisy West Wing the whole day. From her place in the dressing room she could see through the windows the few cars of the staff that had stayed late heading out of the complex.

There’s a strange quality of air in here due to the thick walls of the Residence, blocking all outside noise from entering through the cracks of the building. It does make it feels like she’s in a bubble, cut off from the rest of the country they’re supposed to govern from here. She wondered how the Washingtons could live here for five years and not go mad.

The dressing room2 she was in is distinctly Mrs. Washington. From the homey feel of the couches to the thick red velvet curtains framing the window. Eliza likes it. It didn’t feel like a museum, unlike the rest of the building. Even though they were supposed to redecorate the Residence as new occupants3, she’s sure this is one of the rare rooms where she won’t change anything. It’s a wonder how Alex managed to ward off any attempts of the staff to refurnish the rooms. God knows how determined the Residence’s staff could be when it comes to proper protocol.

The faint but sharp smell of jet fuel4 made her peered outside the window, and sure enough the sight of the Marine One touching down greeted her, its rotors causing the trees surrounding the south lawn to bend at an angle from the wind it produced. She could see Alex stepping out of the helicopter and she smiled when Alex covered his hair, trying to save it from the wind.

It was a good half hour after that before the sound of his footsteps finally reached her ears, though it took another five minutes before he walked through the open door of the dressing room and spotted her lounging on the sofa, surprise evident on his face.

“I thought you stayed at our apartment for the night,” Alex remarked, taking off his cuffs. She would usually sleep in their former apartment if he said that he'd come home to the Residence late, but at that time she had no mood to drive for even five minutes.

“I thought _you_ stayed at whatever place you went to for the night,” she shot back, smiling playfully. Alex returned it with a good-humored roll of his eyes. It seems that whatever mood that had plagued him before had passed, then.

“Is that chocolate?” He asked, throwing his cufflinks on a table near a vase. Eliza hummed, handing out the mug to him and he accepted it gleefully, making happy noises as he gulped it down.

“You shouldn’t have to wait for me,” he remarked, walking back to their adjoined bedroom. Eliza followed, collecting his discarded cufflinks along the way.

Alex kicked off his shoes and threw himself on the bed, groaning. The empty mug bounced with him, and she muffled her laughter behind a hand when said mug hit him in the forehead, causing him to groan louder. He lifted up his head to see Eliza opening the closet to put back his cufflinks, and he frowned when he saw their clothes all pressed and hanging up neatly in them. He looked around for their absent suitcases that were supposed to occupy the corner. “Since when did they move our clothes in there?”

“Since this morning,” she said, closing a drawer. “The staff were begging me so I allowed them.” She looked back. “It’s alright, honey,” she said when his frown deepened. “They already boxed up the Washingtons’ clothes. They didn’t throw it away.”

“I know,” he groaned, covering his head with an arm. “I could only stall it for so long.” He peered through his fingers. “Did they tell you that they want to redecorate too?”

“Yep,” she walked over and sat on the edge, carding her hand through his hair, “I told them we’ll do it after you finally have some free time.” She smiled. “Which I guess is now since you finally killed Nassar.”

He groaned again. “Not now since there’s that thing with Callender.”

She pursed her lips, raising her brows. “Not to be insensitive but he’s a pain in the ass, dead or not.”

Alex barked out a laugh and reached out, wrapping his arms around her to pull her down, causing her to yelp. Once she’s not threatened to fall off the bed, he snuggled closer, resting his head on her chest. She rolled her eyes but shifted closer nonetheless.

“We still haven’t changed,” she reminded him, though she still rested her chin on his head, listening to his breathing as it started to even. He hummed absent-mindedly, snuffling softly. She smiled fondly and kissed the top of his head, happy that her Hamilton is still here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Pennies costs a lot more to make than what it is worth, and it is also a hassle. I highly recommend you watch [CGPGrey’s video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y5UT04p5f7U).Back  
> 2\. The Master Dressing Room is connected to the Master Bedroom, and is generally used now by first ladies as a private study and dressing room. It overlooks the West Wing. Back  
> 3\. The process of the moving in of the Residence’s next occupants’ furnitures happens within the five hours of the inauguration ceremony, though it is unclear what the process would be like for a designated survivor.Back  
> 4\. Michelle Obama mentioned that because of the thickness of the White House’s walls, she would find out that her husband was home because of the smell of the Marine One’s fuel instead of the noise of the chopper itself.Back
> 
> I just discovered that changing the fonts of my writings help me edit and notice typos and errors. And yes, I did change my username :).
> 
> If you noticed that some sentences in the earlier chapters are different, it’s because I’m editing the ones that I think is trash. Apparently impulsive posting is a thing and I’m pretty sure there’s so much things I would change if I *actually* edit properly before posting.
> 
> Also, I’ve just finished reading _Becoming_ by Michelle Obama last night, and she gave such a vivid description of her life and it was such a journey that I cried at least three times while reading it. (Also she did mentions Hamilton about two times, so.) It really gives an insight on what it’s like living in the White House, and it helped me with the writing of this fic. If you’re searching for a book to read, I highly recommend that you get this, even if you’re not used to reading autobiographies.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated, and until next time, stay safe! ♡
> 
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://littlekoroleva.tumblr.com/)!


	7. Ignorance Is Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of early chapters containing dubious consent.

Tallmadge frowned at the screen. The heavily pixelated form that resembled a suited man proved quite unhelpful.

“I told you, this is the best I could do,” Hercules shrugged, leaning back against his seat. He glanced at Tallmadge.

Tallmadge frowned further, straightening back. “So this is what the tabloids are using?”

“Nope,” Hercules replied. “Theirs are more low quality. I told you, this is the best.”

“Well, check the whole area again. Check the stores in the streets. Maybe they would have something there.” Tallmadge checked his watch. “I have to go to my post. I expect progress,” he warned, walking out of the room.

Hercules huffed. “Of course he would tell me to do the work instead of getting help from like, the CIA or something,” he grumbled, typing on his keyboard with a new vigour.

“I could hear you, Mulligan!”

-·=»‡«=·-

_** AMERICA IN CELEBRATION—THE WHITE HOUSE REVEALS THE IDENTITY AND DEATH OF TERRORIST MAJID NASSAR ** _

**_JUSTIN TRUDEAU: “THE WORK OF PRESIDENT HAMILTON IN ENSURING WORLD PEACE ABSOLUTELY INVALUABLE”—WORLD LEADERS EXPRESSING THEIR CONGRATULATIONS_ **

**_PREPARATIONS FOR THE CAPITOL GOING SMOOTHLY—REOPENING EXPECTED TO GO ON AS PLANNED_ **

**_CABINET MEMBERS FINALISED THIS WEEK_ **

-·=»‡«=·-

Glasses clink and occasional laughter echoed together to join the quartet playing in the corner. It was the first time they did such an event—old and wheezing ancient governors mingling together with aspiring youthful future senator nominees in one room.

Alex would actually enjoy it if it were in another time.

He’s in the corner next to Tallmadge’s post, the agent’s large frame and stern expression successfully repenting any lobbyists and officials that had dared to come their way. All his senior staff were all out socialising, trying to find the best nominees for his cabinet. Alex had said that it wasn’t necessary for he already had some ideas, but Eliza insisted, claiming that she knows best to steer him away from ingenuine people only trying to have his ears for their own priorities.

The champagne in his hand remained untouched. He observed the way the lights from the chandeliers above hit the liquid then splintered into a thousand pieces. Alex sighed loudly. Tallmadge bristled slightly, but remained stoic and unmoving in his post.

Alex looked up. Across the ballroom, Eliza, who was in a conversation catched his eyes, smiling at him. He was going to smile back when he noticed André standing right behind her, looking straight at him.

Alex felt like he was going to vomit.

Eliza seemed to have noticed his distress, a frown appearing on her pretty face. She said something to the man she was talking to, then started to walk towards him. André followed.

A tap on his shoulder caused him to jump. He whipped his head to see Tallmadge looking grim.

“Majid Nassar had escaped, Mr. President,” he said in a low voice as to not be heard, his eyes constantly looking behind them, assessing threats. Alex’s eyes widened. “We’ll need to move you to a safer place.”

“But—”

A scream, followed by an ear-shattering explosion ended his sentence. Tallmadge quickly dove forward, bringing Alex with him, covering the shorter man’s body with his.

Alex’s eyes squeezed shut as a shockwave of heat washed over them, his whole breath knocked out of him. He lived through this before. Suddenly he was back in Afghanistan, hot dust blowing into his face while he lied in the field as John defused and disarmed bombs, running away when John failed. Only this time there’s Eliza.

Eliza.

He peeled his eyes back open, ignoring the sharp pain as he did so. He scrambled back up on his wobbly legs.

Eliza. He needs to find his Eliza.

A flash of dark locks caught his attention, and he squinted through the blaze. She was there, coughing and trying to wave off the smoke. He let out a breath.

“Betsey!”

She turned to him, confusion and relief both evident on her face. She coughed some more as she staggered towards him.

Another blast hit him hard, knocking him down again. He gasped, his lungs filling with blazing air. He blinked back into focus. Eliza was lying right there, unmoving. “No,” he gasped out.

Strong hands grasped his shoulders, yanking him around.

He came face to face with Washington, and Alex shrunk back, feeling small from the disappointed gaze.

“This is your fault,” Washington rasped out, teeth baring. “ _You_ did this.”

Alex shook his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut as the hands tightened, leaving him feeling trapped. He hyperventilated, his own hands clasping over his ears as another explosion went off behind him. This couldn’t possibly be happening. He needed to wake up.

_Wake up._

He opened his eyes for real this time, gasping aloud as he did so. He shot up from his bed as soothing, cool hands fluttered around his face.

“Shh,” Eliza cooed, one of her hands brushing matted hair out of his face while the other traced patterns on his back. “Everything’s alright, honey. There’s nothing here.”

He nodded and closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in her closeness for a while as Eliza rearranged the disturbed comforter around them. _Nassar is still in prison,_ he told himself. _There’s nothing he can do._

Once his breathing had much improved, Eliza tapped his chest gently, prompting him to lie back down. He pulled her close, burying his nose in her hair.

“You wanna talk about it?” Eliza mumbled after a few minutes, her voice already drowsy.

He sighed, tightening his hands around her. After a few moments he answered, voice soft, “I dreamt that Nassar killed you.”

She hummed before shaking her head. “Good thing he’s dead,” she lifted her head up to meet his eyes, smiling sleepily, “You don’t have to worry now.”

Right. Eliza doesn’t know. He gave back a shaky smile, nodding. Eliza smiled, putting her head back on his chest. Her breath deepened and evened out after a few minutes, signaling her slumber.

The rest of the night passed agonisingly slowly as he shifted and turned, Eliza long had rolled over to her side of the bed after she woke up a few times to come back to comfort him. The nightmares were a common haunting in his life. To think that Eliza hadn’t complained seriously once about having to wake up in the middle of the night almost every night just to calm him down, his heart should be filled with warmth.

Instead, the weight of guilt just growed heavier.

The deafening silence just made his thoughts magnitudes louder. The only sound other than the rustles of the bedsheet was Eliza occasionally humming in her sleep.

He sighed again before deciding to get up. He climbed out of bed carefully as to not cause her to wake. She looked absolutely gorgeous in her sleep, her nose crunched up adorably as she sniffled when the bed shifted.

The clock showed 5 am. Through the windows he could see the early-rising staff tending the South Lawn, while some others were carrying boxes of the day’s supplies for the kitchens. He went into the bathroom and showered quickly, the ice-cold water allowing him to think properly.

After he was dressed, he slipped quietly downstairs, his shoes barely making a sound on the carpet.

“Little Lion is on the move.”

Alex jumped towards the sky at least three feet, the sound of André’s voice startling him badly. He whipped his head back to see the agent moving to stand behind him.

“It’s my shift,” André placated, holding his hands up. Alex just looked at him warily.

He turned back and walked for a few feet before stopping abruptly, André almost bumping into his back. “Don’t come too close to me,” Alex said over his shoulder. When he received no reply, he walked again, this time the sound of André’s distant footsteps joining his after a few moments.

The both of them continued their journey in silence. The absence of other people around them at that time allowed Alex to not hide his discomfort, his steps becoming noticeably faster and faster with every heartbeat.

Alex wrapped his arms around himself, feeling a bit cold.

He immediately locked and latched the door of the Oval Office once he managed to get in, leaving André outside. Still, he felt unsafe. Alex swiftly went to the other door on the other side, locking that one before his eyes landed on the door leading outside to the Rose Garden. He latched that one, too, even though it is equipped with a thumbprint scanner. You could never be too sure.

He waited for a few minutes to hear if anyone was trying to open the door. When he heard none, he tentatively went back to his desk, his whole body still facing the two main doors.

The back of his shoes hit something on the way there, and Alex looked down between his legs to see Alexander looking less than impressed. It seemed that the Oval Office had become the cat’s chosen place of rest that night. Alex stroked its fur once, letting the cat stretch itself and shrugged its fur before following Alex to the Resolute desk.

Alex let the cat use his chair to climb up onto the desk before sitting on it himself. Immediately, he felt stupid for locking himself inside the Oval Office instead of his private study, his computers and laptops being in the other room (stupid traditions). He shook his head and pulled out a drawer, his fingers fluttering around to feel for his pens, pulling out a stack of papers while he did so.

The words flowed out of him, the pen being a constant weight in his hands. He wrote as the gardeners outside had already come off the lawn and were replaced with staff coming in and out of the White House, each busy with their own departments. Alexander stayed the whole time at its place on the corner of the desk, napping again after it was bored watching the pen go back and forth on the paper.

When Alex read back his writings, however, he noticed something’s wrong.

It was supposed to be a speech for the Capitol’s reopening. However, his writings strayed too much from the topic and rambling at best, gibberish at worst. Alex shook his head at a particularly bad paragraph. He went ahead to scribble on top of it, but somehow the pen caused the paper to tear and form a big hole.

“Fuck!” He shouted, bringing his hands across the desk, sending the papers and pens clattering onto the floor. Alexander jolted awake, jumping down from the desk in a scare.

Alex let out a breath, rubbing a shaky hand across his face before resting his chin on his hands, letting his eyes close shut. There’s no way he could do any work, not in that state. He debated on feigning sickness to his secretary, before changing his mind. It would raise too much attention on him, one he can’t afford now, not this close to the Capitol’s reopening.

Alexander meowed, causing him to peel his eyes open. The cat rubbed against his ankles as though sensing his distress, and Alex smiled weakly, though it was not enough to raise his spirits.

Alex ran a hand through his hair. He debated for a moment before deciding to rise up from his seat, stepping around the mess on the floor. He’ll go mad if he continues this any further.

The cat licked its paw before trotting confidently alongside Alex, certain that it was finally going to get breakfast.

-·=»‡«=·-

Tallmadge unlocked the door with some difficulty, cursing the building’s old age in his mind. Once he managed, he opened the door while pocketing the keys safely with him, unwilling to let any rascals get in.

He unholstered his gun and was about to set it on the desk before pausing in his step. His fingers tightened around the weapon.

A creak behind him set him in motion, and he swiftly turned around, gun cocked and aimed at his intruder.

Eliza had her hands up, an eyebrow raised. “You’re incredibly skittish in the White House.”

“My apologies, Miss Schuyler,” Tallmadge lowered his gun, holstering it back on his belt. “Didn’t know you are here.”

“Why are you so defensive?” Eliza repeated.

“Nothing worth noting,” Tallmadge replied diplomatically. “Merely precautions.” Eliza instead just looked more suspicious. _Damn, this was much easier with Martha Washington._ Tallmadge supposed it had to do with growing up with a politician as a father.

After a few moments of her scrutinising and him maintaining a cool face, Eliza nodded, though she still looked suspicious. Still, Tallmadge let out an audible breath.

“I came here to ask about Alex,” she said while making rounds around the room, eyes wandering over the different equipment and monitors in there. Tallmadge had to fight an urge to insubordinately pull her away when her eyes lingered way too long on a list of corrupt politicians on a computer.

“He’s been weird these couple days.” She continued, “I know you know something,” her gaze went back to him, “Tell me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said coolly, arms clasped behind his back.

She scoffed, sitting herself on a seat uninvited. “For an agent, you’re quite obvious.”

“I’m not sure what you are trying to achieve here, Miss Schuyler,” he bluntly stated, relishing the way her eyes twitched. “I would know if something’s bothering the President.”

“Is this about Nassar? Is that why I couldn’t know?” She asked, turning desperate.

When Tallmadge didn’t answer, her gaze impossibly turned even more sharp. For such a small woman she’s quite commanding. Not that Tallmadge is scared. Just...disturbed. “Now I’m not sure who you are trying to protect here,” she sincerely stated, ridiculing. “Him, or _yourself_.”

His shackles rose at the words. “I dedicate my whole life in ensuring the safety of the President,” he said slowly, etiquette be damned. “You have no rights in telling me that I even dare think of putting my own interest in front of the President’s.”

“Then why is he acting like someone’s going to jump on him at any time?” Her voice started to rise, eyes wide as she rose from her seat. “I’m not naive. I could see it when something’s wrong. Especially when it is regarding Alex.

“Please, Ben,” her voice became softer, almost pleading. “I could not help you help him if you won’t tell me.”

His mind was screaming at him. For the past ten years he was in service, not once had he meddled in his employers’ private life. He had watched quietly from the shadows as husbands went out with mistresses and wives admitting how they only married for money, but not once had he stepped out of the boundaries he had set for himself.

_But this is different_ , another part of him whispered. The utter helplessness on Alex’s face that night still haunted him to this day. It was in the President’s pleasure in which he serves, but at what costs? Is it truly in the President’s interest if the man himself suffered because of his own order?

His internal battle must’ve shown on his face, because Eliza’s eyes turned more pleading, silently urging him to spill his share of secrets.

Tallmadge closed his eyes in shame of what he’s about to do next. He let the dam break.

-·=»‡«=·-

Thomas rubbed a hand across his face, observing the younger man in front of him. “And what do you expect me to do?”

“Be my designated survivor tomorrow,” Alex said, his voice not allowing Thomas to refute.

Instead, Thomas raised an eyebrow. “You’re so adamant about this whole thing,” he remarked, putting his files back in his desk’s drawer. He shifted his attention back to the President, the man looking worse for the wear in the middle of his office.

“I don’t ask for much,” Alex said impatiently, shoes tapping on the hardwood floor. Thomas longed to tell him to stop. “Just, stay in the White House tomorrow. Don’t come to the reopening.”

“And what will the media say?” Thomas challenged, crossing his arms across his chest. Alex huffed.

“Just do as I say,” Alex walked away, his hand resting on the door knob. “I’ll handle the rest.”

Thomas shrugged. It’s not like he could defy the President anyway.

-·=»‡«=·-

Eliza waited patiently in the Central Hall1. She flipped the pages of the book in her hand every few minutes, though her mind was far from the contents. The warm evening lighting did nothing to ease the turmoil in her chest. André’s letter of resignation laid in front of her, freshly typed and printed by herself, needing one last signature.

Even if she didn’t have any authority over the Secret Service, being a meager White House staff, Tallmadge had followed her instructions with no objections of his own. The only reason André wasn’t fired yet was because of Alex himself. And even if she had felt a brief anger towards him, Tallmadge had calmed her, saying that an impeachment from the President would make finding another job difficult for André.

The other unsaid fact was his daughter. Eliza had had the pleasure of meeting her some lifetime ago when André brought her to work, a lively girl with such a spirit that Eliza longed to care for her after hearing that her mother had died some years ago. And to hear that she had cancer, Alex couldn’t bring himself to fire her father, not when they’re in such a precarious position.

A deep, strong resentment echoed in herself towards John André. For the selfish things he’d done to Alex, and for forfeiting his work without thinking about his daughter.

The faint sound of heavy, martial footsteps could be heard from the stairs, signalling Alex’s arrival, and Eliza quickly leaned back into the couch and feigned interest in her book as though she had been engrossed in it for hours.

Alex emerged around the corner of the hallway moments later. Eliza glanced up, smiling at him when he met her eyes.

“You’re looking much better,” she remarked. Alex shrugged, walking towards her.

“I talked to Thomas,” he simply explained.

Before Eliza could express her confusion, his eyes wandered to the piece of paper on the table, and his smile turned into a frown. Eliza watched intently as he picked it up, turning it in his hands. Her heart skipped a beat when his eyes narrowed at the name written on top of the paper.

“What is this?” His voice was icy.

She stood up straighter at the tone. “Me and Ben decided to fire him,” she said calmly. “We just need your signature.”

Alex looked at her warily. “And why do you want to fire him?” He said slowly, anticipating her answer. Eliza cleared her throat, reciting back the lines in her head.

“Well, Ben told me about something that happened some nights ago,” she began, watching carefully at the change in Alex’s expression. When his face hardened, she quickly explained, “It’s the right thing to do! We can’t have a—” She stopped.

Alex’s whole face flushed. “A what?” He challenged, eyes wide.

“I—” Eliza sputtered, before shaking her head, taking a deep breath. “We can’t have an _assaulter_ in the White House,” she said with a finality. “And I don’t care if you or even Washington himself had trusted him before. What he did was unacceptable.”

Alex’s mouth hung open, as though he could not believe what Eliza declared. She had the instinct to take back what she said before deciding against it, figuring that she needed to be unmoving.

She watched as Alex retreated back into himself, closed off from her. “I don’t know where you got that.”

At that, Eliza let out an unbelieving laugh and flailed her arms. “You can’t pretend forever, Alex,” she said, incredulous as she rose up from her seat. “I don’t understand why you are so adamant about protecting André,” she spat out the name as though it disgusts her to let it grace her mouth. Maybe it does. “An advance without consent? I don’t care if you’re the fucking President. It’s just wrong.”

“I’m not protecting him,” Alex hissed, throwing the paper away. “I have my reasons.”

“Well, what are your reasons?” She challenged him. “His ailing daughter? His military records?”

“That’s none of your business,” he huffed, running a hand through his hair. He’d been doing that a lot lately.

Eliza looked at him with disbelief. “I’m trying to protect you, Alexander. We can’t keep doing this. You hiding secrets from me—”

“Oh, is that what this is all about?” He let out a scoff, walking into the Yellow Oval2. Eliza followed, but not before snatching the paper from the floor. “I’m sorry my job required _some_ secrets to be kept.”

“For God’s sake, Alexander, I don’t care that you have to hide secrets from me as the president,” she stood by the doorway, watching as Alex furiously took off his tie and flung it somewhere in the room. “I’m worried that you keep secrets from me as my partner.”

She watched with concern when Alex stayed silent, contemplating before shaking his head. He slipped through another door, entering their living room.

Eliza sighed, trailing behind him as Alex stopped in front of the large window overlooking the South Lawn. The Washington Monument was still halfway built, but they could already see it peeking up from among the trees. One could already feel the significance of the obelisk to the surrounding area, as though it was always meant to be in the National Mall.

“How are you not disgusted by me?”

Alex said so softly that Eliza would have missed it if she were any further from him. She furrowed her brows. “What?” She said as softly.

He didn’t look at her, his expression tight. Eliza stepped forward, and placed a hand gently on his. “Alex.”

He barely reacted, though he retreated his hand back. “I’ll sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom tonight,” he mumbled as he fled away before Eliza could say anything more.

The paper laid signed and stamped the next morning on her bedside, with Alex nowhere to be found.

“Could you give this to André before we head out?” Eliza handed out the paper to Nate, and the man shifted his attention from the computer, raising an eyebrow.

“Resignation?” He remarked, though he still took the paper, skimming through it. Eliza just looked with some numbness. “‘Reasons that could not be specified’?”

“Just, pass it to him,” she said, hoping that he won’t push it any further. Nate shrugged, placing it on his desk on top of another pile of papers.

“Kinda harsh, ey? This close to the Capitol reopening?”

Eliza shook her head. “It had to be done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Central Hall is as it name suggest, the main corridor on the second floor of the Residence.Back  
> 2\. The Yellow Oval Room is often used for formal private receptions for important guests, and is the room that leads to the Truman Balcony. Back
> 
> I’m truly sorry for this really late update. Ye Olde Plague™ that had ravaged the world has started to dwindle down in my country (yay!), allowing for school to come back in session (nay...), and being that I’m in boarding school, it’s truly hard to find time for myself, much less to write. I will try my best to juggle my work so that I’m able to write more and update more frequently. Also! My exam is around next week, so I’d probably be delaying the next chapter until then. (Oh how very excited I am for the next chapter ;) )
> 
> Your comments always bring joy, and even if I don’t reply back, just know that you probably just made my day! (And also know that I probably have read your comments multiple time...Comments are a weird motivational boost, better than caffeine.)
> 
> Stay safe, and come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tumblr.com/littlekoroleva)!


	8. Helpless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of blood.

“Are you going to the reopening?” Claire asked as she felt around for her file in the drawer. It was always a hassle to find things in it, but she couldn’t be bothered to spend time tidying it.

“Yep,” Nate replied, gathering his stuff as he shrugged on a coat. “Something like that.”

Claire gave her coworker a look over her glasses. “And I’m stuck in this old building.”

“Cheer up, Claire,” Nate winked, grabbing his duffel bag. “I’ll report to you the lovely weather outside.”

Claire groaned, leaning back against her seat even as her cheeks blushed. “I really wanna come.”

“You could always ask the President,” he said, though he was only half-joking.

“Nah,” Claire waved the file dismissively. “I’m not looking forward to getting yelled at.”

Nate raised a brow. Claire shrugged. “Some intern this morning accidentally crashed into the President.” She nodded when Nate winced. “Yeah. I know.”

“Well, another time then,” Nate said, before looking at his watch. “I gotta go. Enjoy work, Claire!” He flashed her a charming smile as he rushed out the door.

Claire blushed again, waving goodbye.

She returned to her computer, sighing at the load of work. _Better get started,_ she thought, adjusting her glasses.

A few moments later Nate rushed back into the office, duffel still in hand. “Forgot this,” he sheepishly explained, grabbing a letter off a stack before rushing out again in a flurry of papers.

Claire smiled to herself, amused.

-·=»‡«=·-

_Your service in protecting the honourable leaders of this nation for the past 3 years is invaluable, and will forever be honoured. However, in recent times these charges has been made against you:_

_Deviation of duty_

_Breach of protocol_

_Inappropriate contact with protectee_

_For these reasons that could not be specified, your contract with the White House will be terminated, effective immediately. Please consult the Secret Service for your next assigned duty._

_As such, please return the government-assigned Blackberry, your White House keycard, your assigned-Glocks, and the sedan’s keys to the National Security Advisor’s secretary’s desk immediately. Strong actions will be made if you fail to do so._

_Your health insurance will expire in the next 60 days._

_Your work here will be held with the highest of regard, though it is now not needed. We wish you the best of luck for your life hereafter._

_Alexander H.  
_ _President of the United States of America_

-·=»‡«=·-

André rubbed a hand over his face, leaning on his hands on the desk. The whole office was empty, every Secret Service agent out to prepare for the President’s arrival at the Capitol reopening. The condemning letter laid innocuously on his desk. Short, compact and straight to the point.

André hated it.

It was a mistake. A calculated one, but a mistake nonetheless. His position in Alex’s detail was hanging on thin thread anyway. He almost felt unburdened while reading the letter, before it came back crashing onto him again.

Lovell, his beloved daughter. She was the reason he had accepted this position in the White House. She was excited at the prospect of her dad working with the President of the United States, often pointing out “Dad!” whenever she saw him on duty in the news, stoic as rock while the president did his speech.

She cannot know that his dad was fired, that’s for sure.

Anger coursed for a moment. The whole thing was a mess. A preventable mess. Now with the termination the Secret Service would never assign him into a detail again, much less send him on the field.

His fist tightened as the name of one person came up in his mind. His life is now ruined, all because of him. André clenched his jaw. He took a deep breath, exhaling shakily, before leaning straight up again.

He doesn't have much time.

-·=»‡«=·-

Aaron checked his watch for the ninth time, scowling when it showed that it had been ten minutes after eight thirty. His office door was open, anticipating his staff’s arrival. Tardiness is something Aaron irked, and apparently something that the Hamilton administration ran on.

Angelica walked through the door, Eliza trailing behind. “Sorry, Aaron,” she said, phone still in hand. “Got some press to handle.”

“Of course.” Aaron frowned again, glancing at the door. “Where’s John?”

“Something with the Secret Service,” Angelica sighed, pulling two chairs to his desk for her and Eliza. “Apparently there’s some holes in the security back at the Capitol. He’s been going back and forth from here and there since morning.”

Just as she finished saying that, John came barreling through the door, working an arm into the sleeve of his coat. “Sorry, sorry,” he rushed to say at Aaron’s stern look. “Somehow we were short one sniper to guard the roofs1.”

Eliza’s face darkened slightly at the sentence, Aaron noticed. He’ll have to ask about that later.

“So it’s settled now?” Aaron asked, raising a brow as he reached for a notepad. They can’t afford pesky security problems when it regards the President, not this close to a ceremony.

John nodded, moving to perch on Angelica’s arm chair despite her protests. “Yep. Someone dealt with it, and we’ve covered the whole block leading up to the Capitol and the surroundings.”

“The traffic?”

“The D.C. police have handled that.”

Aaron nodded once, his pen scratching across the pad. “Good. Angelica?”

“I’ve handled the press corps,” she said, using her phone to scratch the bridge of her nose. “They’re ready at the site.”

“The satellite trucks are also in position,” Eliza added. “We had a large amount of broadcasters this time.”

“As it should be,” Aaron said. “What about the teleprompter and the speech?”

“We’ve tested it,” she answered. “As for the speech, well…”

Aaron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alex changed it?”

Eliza winced. “Yeah.”

“Just make sure it’ll show up on the prompter,” Aaron waved her off. Eliza hummed. “This is good,” Aaron nodded to himself, finishing his notes with a flourish. “I’ll meet you guys backstage at the Capitol. I have some business to get to first.”

Angelica and John fleeted out of the room the moment Aaron allowed them, hurrying to their jobs. Eliza instead stayed back, looking as inconspicuous as a rainbow coloured pigeon in the White House.

“Something about our missing sniper?” Aaron asked casually as he logged off his computer, preparing to go out.

At the end of his vision, Eliza perked up. “Why do you think so?”

“You don’t seem happy,” he said, fighting down a triumphant smile at the jackpot. “You’re mad about it?”

Eliza sniffed, resting her chin on a fist, bringing her feet up the chair. Aaron gave her a look. “Don’t you dare ruin the dress.”

Eliza rolled her eyes, eyeing her new dress with annoyance. “Frankly, I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” Aaron stated simply. “This is your first official public appearance and I would appreciate it if the press doesn’t come banging on _my_ door complaining about _your_ dress.”

Eliza went silent, though she did bring her feet back down, but not without a petulant stomp. Aaron rolled his eyes. He grabbed his coat and his Blackberry, starting to head to the door. Eliza got up and trailed behind him.

“So you’re gonna tell me about your security complaints or you’re just going to follow me everywhere?”

Eliza shrugged on her coat, closing the office door behind her. “I fired André.”

That stopped him in his tracks, barely dodging an incoming staff barelling through the halls. “The missing sniper is André?”

When Eliza nodded, not meeting his eyes, he continued slowly, “And why did you fire him today? Scratch it, why did you even fire him?”

Eliza sighed. Aaron watched as she looked left and right, before whispering subtly, “Breach of protocol. I had to do it.”

Aaron tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “And why didn’t I know about this?”

Eliza’s expression was indecipherable as she simply turned away from him and walked down the hallway. Aaron’s curiosity simply grew as he jogged up to her, his stomps barely muffled on the carpet.

“Eliza,” he urged, for once feeling desperate. He’s supposed to know everything regarding the President, isn’t that the qualities of a good Chief of Staff? “What breach of protocol?”

Eliza spun on her heels, causing him to stumble back. “I‘ll tell you later,” she urgently said, voice low. “Just…be informed.”

With that, she stalked away and out into the lobby, leaving him dazed, and a thousand times more curious.

-·=»‡«=·-

The presidential seal beside Eliza was glossy and new, displayed proudly between her seat and Alex’s. Outside, through the thick windows of the armoured Cadillac she could see people streaming in and out of the West Wing lobby, passing papers and making last minute phone calls while waiting for the President. Her watch showed that they have ten minutes left before the start of the ceremony at the steps of the newly reconstructed Capitol. Eliza chewed her cheeks, anticipating to face Alex later.

If she was being honest, she was ready to kill Alex when the words first tumbled out of Tallmadge’s mouth. The rest of his words were muffled the moment she heard “André kissed Alex,” but then it was Tallmadge who held her back from marching into the Oval Office and throttled the life out of him.

Her blood simmered when she thinks about André being the reason Alex was so closed off from her. That never happened before. Alex himself had admitted being insecure of telling people of his feelings, Eliza and John being the exception. Perhaps it hurts her more to think that she knew nothing of André and Alex, only able to watch from the outside as though she’s the stranger, André’s the familiar.

The car door opened, allowing the noise from outside to reach her ears. The sound of Alex’s voice caused Eliza’s heartbeat to instantly spiked up, though she wasn’t sure why. She turned her head just as Alex stepped a foot into the Cadillac, still deep in conversation.

“There’s really nothing you need to worry about, sir,” somebody said. Eliza craned her neck to see an aide fluttering around Alex, a file in his hands and a pen behind his ears. The aide continued, “The Secret Service already settled it.”

Alex licked his lips, his fingers tapping the headrest of his seat. “Report to me immediately if something seems wrong.”

The aide barely nodded, “Of course, sir,” before flurrying away, kicking dust.

Eliza, watching the exchange in silence suddenly felt her throat run dry when Alex shifted his attention to her. Her eyes involuntarily flickered away, and she gulped when she felt the seat shift as Alex settled into his seat, the door slamming shut a few moments later.

As the motorcade glided through the block, Eliza occasionally glanced at him, getting dismayed every time Alex would look down on the floor, avoiding her gaze. It was dead quiet with the exception of Alex’s heel tapping repeatedly against the floor. She didn’t try to stop him this time.

Meade cleared his throat, hands gripping firmly on the steering wheel. “We’re here, Mr. President.”

She looked up. There were crowds gathered along the road, each person waving a red and blue as cameras were starting to flash. Eliza cursed under her breath. It escaped her mind that the press would observe their every move, desperate for a story to sell other than the reopening. She subconsciously tugged at her dress.

As Tallmadge opened the door on his side, Alex soundlessly held out his hand, and Eliza took it hesitantly, quite confused. As she questioned silently, Alex stepped out, immediately meeting the roaring crowd as he pasted on a big, charming smile and waved with the other hand. The crowd roared louder.

 _Oh._ Eliza too immediately turned on a smile so wide it hurt as her feet landed on the ground. She let Alex lead her down the red carpet to the Capitol as Meade and the other agents flanked them, ensuring no one would jump across the barriers.

As the crowds cheered, she let herself look ahead, at Alex. Even with his thousand-watt smile, she could see there was no amusement behind his eyes, merely dull numbness. Even his hand felt wrong, gone was his assured grip, leaving only enough to satisfy the press. He also barely looked back at her, determined to look forward.

Her throat ran dry, her mask slipping for a moment. She dreaded going through the ceremony, praying above for it to go by fast.

The distinct sound of President Hamilton’s voice echoed throughout the whole block from the speakers, the rhythm accompanying his steps as he climbed the stairs. The whole building was cleared by the Secret Service, as was protocol for any infrastructures in a 3-mile-radius of the president. Easier for him.

He found the perfect spot, a window with a direct view of the stage erected before the Capitol. He could clearly see the podium where the President stood, as well as the thousands of people gathered in front of him.

It was quick work. Soon enough, he had his Barrett M82A .50 caliber ready, perched between the cracks of the slightly opened window. The semiautomatic was his baby, all fifty-seven inches of it, thirty pounds when empty.

It was not empty now. He was loaded and locked over the Capitol.

He peered through the scope of his rifle, feeling pleased with the wind that day. A shot at any part of the body will do, but only a head shot could guarantee immediate neurological and muscular shutdown. Luckily, he’s a proud bearer of 97 confirmed kills.

The President sometimes moved as he spoke, but that wouldn’t be a problem. He had dealt with far more difficult targets before. Still, the scope was adjusted with a click, the crosshairs hovering on the head of his target.

Applause and cheers from the crowd rose and graced his ears, almost chanting him as his trigger finger tightened with ball-bearing smoothness.

“This, behind me, is proof that nothing could threaten our nation,” Alexander proclaimed boldly, his hand gesturing to the new glittering Capitol. Eliza glanced at Alex’s profile, his face slightly lightening up as the crowd applauded, and a guy whooped. This time a genuine smile grew on his face as he yelled, “We have risen from the ashes, and we can do it again!”

The crowd roared, and someone threw their flag in the air. Everyone else followed, and the sky was filled with red, white and blue, and confetti fell like sparkling rain. As hollers filled the air, Alex turned back, catching Eliza’s eyes, and her breath caught in her throat.

Eliza remembered a lifetime ago, when she and Alex were anxiously waiting for the reelection results with the rest of Washington's campaign and West Wing staff. She had been a mess that day—they all were, flitting between rooms and phone calls as the gray states on the map on the TV slowly turned red or blue. Contradicting Alex, who was lounging on the sofa in the middle of the chaos, smirking at her from time to time when she glared at him.

 _“How are you so calm?”_ She had asked, hands on her waist just as on screen Texas turned red. Curses and groans erupted in the room at that moment, everyone disappointed but expected to lose the state to the Republicans. Still, it hurts.

Instead of shouting profanities like everyone else, Alex was staring at the map on screen, his face impassive as a thousand calculations flickered behind his eyes. Eliza contemplated for a bit, before sitting next to him.

When a slight smile stretched on his face, Eliza raised an eyebrow. _“What?”_ She had asked, ignoring the cheers around them when New York turned blue.

He shot her a playful look, almost taunting her with the question. When Eliza had pinched him in return, he only laughed. _“Relax, Betsey,”_ he had replied, taking her hand in his. _“It will all turn out alright.”_

And he was right. Washington had won, in fact, raking up 350 of the votes. Confettis were thrown, the balloons were let out and fireworks were set off bursting into a thousand colours, it had seemed like the whole city was celebrating. The staff were just happy that they will still work with their favourite President. Even Angelica had cried a little. ( _“I did not cry,”_ she had defiantly declared later. _“I was merely overwhelmed.”_ )

Eliza had cheered so loud her throat was sore later. She almost cried when Anderson Cooper declared Washington still as President, and seeing Washington’s face on the screen, with ‘President of the United States’ underneath it caused her to believe that there’s still hope in the world.

She remembered Alex, illuminated in red and blue with a wide grin on his face as he bounced around and hugged everyone from Peggy to John. Laughter bubbled up from his throat as he turned his head, his eyes finding Eliza. He gave her a look that said, _“I told you so.”_

The hope in the air that day was unmatched, except for now. One could say it was the patriotic buzz in the air, but the look on Alex‘s face was not unlike that day. Alex flashed her a hopeful smile, almost apologetic, and her heart sang. Tears pricked in her eyes, and she held out her hand. Alex reached out. _It will all turn out alright._

That was when the first gunshot was heard.

Somebody screamed in the audience. Two more shots followed. The teleprompter shattered, sending shards of glass spraying on them as something whizzed past her ear. Alex stumbled and his feet slipped from the steps of the podium, falling on top of her, and she braced them both as they went down.

“Get down!” Tallmadge shouted, shoving both of them further to the floor. She yelled as the back of her head hit the floor _hard_. Copper entered her mouth, leaving her tongue metallic. Someone else shouted something, panicked yells surrounding them. Eliza tried to gasp for air, having difficulty to do so as Alex was sprawled on her chest, Tallmadge’s body covering them both.

 _“Who has the Lion and Lace 2?!” _She vaguely heard something coming in from Tallmadge’s earpiece. That was how close they were. _“Who has Lion?!”_

“I have them!” Tallmadge yelled into his watch.

Stars floated in her vision. Someone grabbed her by the armpits, hauling her up from underneath Alex. Something wet and warm soaked her dress, the fabric sticking to her skin. She looked down. _Her new dress._ The shade of blue had turned deep purple.

Her vision gradually increased, finally processing. She looked up. Alex’s blown pupils stared back. A startled gasp tore out of her throat when his body rolled over and landed with a lifeless _thump_.

Tallmadge’s eyes widened.

A switch clicked in her brain. She scrambled on her feet, slapping away Meade’s hands. “Alexander!” She gasped out, skidding by his body. Alex just stared at the sky, his blue eyes limp and unresponsive to her cries. Blood bloomed underneath pristine white shirt. Eliza wanted to scream. Someone grabbed her by the shoulders, dragging her away.

She watched helplessly as Secret Service descended on his body, their shouting submerged beneath the roaring in her ears. She vaguely remembered herself crying out loud when they surrounded his body, blocking her view of him.

“Eliza,” Meade firmly said when Eliza’s hand accidentally smacked him in the face. She looked up at her name and was met with Meade’s pleading eyes. Meade never broke protocol before. His voice softened, “Please.”

Stifling a sob, she let herself be dragged away by a dozen hands and into a waiting car. They sped away, following the vehicle that carried Alex’s body.

 _Not his_ body _. It’s Alex._ Eliza told herself, her breathing erratic. Someone—she thinks it’s Angelica—rubbed circles on her back. _They say he’s not dead yet._

_Yet._

A strangled whimper tore out of her throat.

The hospital’s back entrance was flanked with dozens of Secret Service agents, each holding rifles in their hands as they skidded in front of the waiting door. Eliza practically jumped out of the vehicle when they stopped, immediately running towards Alex as he was being put on a readied stretcher.

A nurse was rattling off his details, and someone was putting pressure on Alex’s shoulder and torso. Eliza nearly fainted when she realised that there’s two wounds.

She fluttered around, unsure of what to do. They were supplying blood into him through tubes3, but Alex seemed too still, his face too pale. He’s supposed to be constantly on the move, a million ideas coming out of his mind. Eliza panicked, trying to help but only managing to be in the way of the nurses and doctors.

“Miss Schuyler, I’ll need you to give him space,” a doctor said as she started to wheel them towards the ER. Eliza stepped back. She just felt helpless.

She followed them as they glided through the floor. She nearly went into the operating room before someone stepped between her and Alex. Eliza moved to push them away, her eyes constantly on Alex as they wheeled him in, but then two strong hands landed on her shoulders, keeping her in place.

She wanted to yell at them for trying to separate her from her Alexander. But then they gripped her face between their hands, firmly looking into her eyes.

“Miss Schuyler,” they said, and Eliza blinked a few times to realise that it was the doctor. She continued, “It will do more good to the President if you take care of yourself first.”

When Eliza opened her mouth to protest, the doctor peered down into her eyes, her brown eyes stern but understanding. “We’ll take care of him,” she said, soft but firmly. “He’ll need you when he wakes up later.”

Eliza noticed that she said _when,_ not _if._ Still, she nodded slowly at the truth in her words, her breath still laboured. The doctor gave her an assuring pat, offering her a small smile before jogging back towards the operating room, a nurse holding out the door for her before they both disappeared inside.

The hospital corridor was dead silent after that, the slam of the door almost still echoing through its halls. The only accompanying sound other than her breathing was the growing footsteps behind her.

She jolted when a warm hand landed on her shoulder. “Eliza,” Angelica exhaled. Eliza turned back and was met with her pitying smile.

A tear slipped out of her eyes. She raised a violently shaking hand to brush it away, before noticing its state. They were caked in dried blood— _Alex’s blood_ —and there was _so much._

_Alex was shot._

He’s been shot _twice._

_What if he couldn’t write anymore? What if he had lost too much blood? What if they had arrived too late? What if—_

Angelica stepped forward, catching her just as her knees buckled, sending her to the floor. Eliza screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Apparently there’s snipers posted on the roofs of the places that the President will visit. Thought it was cool. Back  
> 2\. Jackie Kennedy’s codename.Back  
> 3\. There’s a blood bank in the trunk of Cadillac One matching the president’s type. This is cooler. Back
> 
> ...sorry.
> 
> I like to personally thank Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez for inspiring me enough for me to get my ass moving to finish this chapter. I finished my exam, yay! And I’m quite happy with my results, though I could certainly improve. (I didn’t answer like, two whole pages of Maths because I don’t have enough time. I got a B. T_T) I think this will be my posting schedule now, every three to four weeks since I don’t exactly have anymore holidays this year, and my schoolwork is... well, schoolwork.
> 
> I would love to hear your theories! Although I’m sure some of you already had figured it out already from reading this chapter (some of you are just too clever).
> 
> Stay safe, and come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tumblr.com/littlekoroleva)!


	9. Jackie

It was pure chaos.

People were pushing each other in an attempt to escape. Someone was being trampled. His colleagues, well, _former colleagues,_ were, for the first time, overwhelmed, trying to calm everyone down, at the same time blocking anyone who was trying to get out. André ducked behind an old man as he spotted the tell-tale suit of an agent, jogging towards the edge of the crowd. He looked back, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in his jeans and baseball cap.

Someone was screaming profanities, trying to go up against the Secret Service agents. André hadn’t bothered to listen in, he’s just grateful for the distraction. As the agents were tackling the man down, André jumped over the barriers before sprinting towards a parked car, then, when the coast was clear, towards a building and into an alley.

He tried to catch his breath, but his eyes still wandered around for potential witnesses, his years of training kicking in. When he saw none, he heaved another breath and took off.

-·=»‡«=·-

The tap water turned pink as she ran the initially white towel beneath it. She brought back the sodding cloth to her face, scrubbing it across another part of her face in one rough motion. The reflection showed a smudge of red left behind. She wiped at it again. The red remained. A sob escaped her lips. She scrubbed at it again and again until the smudge disappeared and it was her cheek that turned red instead, irritated.

She continued with her motions, methodically going down her neck—there’s so much there too—and to the back of her ears. A clump of hair fell down into her vision. It too, like the rest of her, was matted in red liquid. She tugged and wrung it out harshly. When she peered at the red-soaked towel she saw a few strands of her own hair.

She peered at her reflection. She looked no better than she was before. Perhaps worse. Her eyes were rimmed red, and her lips were swollen from biting it so much. Eliza could still see some dried blood near her hairline, splattered on her face because she stood behind Alex.

She only realised that she was crying when she tasted salt on her lips. She clasped a hand over her mouth just as a loud sob escaped, the sound amplified by the bathroom’s walls.

A quiet, hesitant knock was heard. “Miss Schuyler?” Came Meade’s voice. “They are going with the surgery, I just—“ He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

She closed her eyes tightly, taking a huge amount of effort to regulate her breathing. She sniffed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Inhaling deeply, she threw the soiled towel into the sink. “I’ll be out in a moment,” she called back in a scratchy voice. She ran her fingers through her disheveled hair, attempting to give it some semblance of proper.

“Just checking in,” he replied. “Take all the time you need.”

But Eliza was already turning the door handle, the icy coldness leeching the warmth out of her hand. Meade offered her a slight smile. She merely turned her head forward. The pity she’d been receiving was beginning to make her skin crawl. _Don’t treat me like a widow_.

They both made their way back to the presidential suite, the hallways all shiny and gleaming with luxuries, not unlike those in the White House. But the gilded mirrors and the rich wood panels didn’t disguise the fact that it was still, in fact, a hospital ward, albeit a very fancy one. The sharp smell of sanitizers and the jarring sight of machines and tubes ready on the bedside in the adjoining room enhanced that. Eliza could only think of how Alex despises hospitals. She made a mental note to tell the hospital staff to put fresh flowers later to disguise the smell.

They all looked like a big steaming pile of wreck. Any productivity that might have come was lost. John had gone unnervingly quiet, taking a corner for himself. Angelica was typing furiously into her laptop, sniffing occasionally and wiping her face with the sleeve of the hoodie she brought everywhere. She had held her head high when she faced the press, but who knows what kind of thoughts were spinning in her mind now.

Eliza stopped by the door. The large TV suspended on the wall was showing the news. It was muted, but by the same footage played over and over again, she could guess what it’s about. The big, bold letters proclaiming the event underneath it also helped.

She watched, numb. From the angle of this was shot, everyone could clearly see the exact moment when the bullet hit him, blown back by the force as he staggered down the steps while his hands grasped weakly at the podium. She watched her own face contorted from confusion to daze when his blood sprayed onto her as they both went down.

The screen went black. “That’s enough,” Aaron stated, throwing the remote. It plopped weakly on the couch beside Angelica. “You should sit, Eliza,” he put a hand on her back, leading her to an open armchair. She bristled at the contact, and Aaron immediately retracted his hand. “Sorry,” he muttered, but still urged her to sit. She complied.

“This is Dr. Hosack,” Aaron addressed the man standing behind him. The doctor nodded at the acknowledgment. “He’ll be Al—the President’s associate specialist surgeon for the operation,” Aaron continued. Eliza glanced back at the doctor. He seemed regal, his posture immaculate.

Dr. Hosack scanned the room before meeting her eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Schuyler,” he said with a pitying smile. Eliza averted her gaze.

“I’m not going to lie, and my biggest apologies for even daring to think this,” he gestured to Meade and Eliza, “I was pleasantly surprised the President somehow survived the ride here. We’ve done everything we can in the span of then and now. Though we’re not out of the woods quite yet. One of the bullets was lodged way too close to his brachial artery for our comfort so we’ll have to remove that in surgery. Of course, we’re hoping for the best, but there’s still a chance we can’t stop his internal bleeding.” He stopped when he noticed their horrified expressions. “Just a slim chance of that happening, of course,” he hurriedly said. “Do not worry, the President is under the good care of the best doctors in America.”

Someone scoffed. “And why are you here instead of in said surgery?” John said briskly, impatience clear on his face. Dr. Hosack just raised his hand professionally, placating him.

“My job here is to inform the President’s senior staff of when he’ll be put under anaesthesia.” He glanced at his watch. “Which is in about one minute from now.”

“And Vice President Jefferson will officially become Acting President,” Aaron supplied, not helpfully.

John rolled his eyes, looking disgusted at the prospect. He tossed his phone on a table. “He must like that,” John muttered, running a hand through his face.

Aaron didn’t indulge in his complaints. “What did the FBI say?” He asked instead, warning John of the extra company they had. Dr. Hosack looked quite amused at the display.

The frown on John’s face deepened. “They searched every building. Nothing.” He plopped down beside Angelica. She glanced up. Her eyes were rimmed with red. “They’re running background checks on every Secret Service and NSA agent right now,” he continued, “though I doubt they’ll find anything. The Secret Service is tight.”

“What about Herc? And Tallmadge?” Angelica nudged him, voice raspy.

“Said they think they know something,” John replied, then snorted to himself. “He must be right under our fucking noses. The shooter, I mean.”

_Right under, indeed,_ Eliza thought. For all she had thought would happen today, nothing had come close to this. Yet here she was, in a ridiculously elaborate hospital ward waiting for her partner-slash-the President of the United States to undergo surgery. Somehow she longed to go back in time, when the only problem they had was André and the only thing crippling was their relationship.

Eliza frowned and sat up. _André._

Hosack’s walkie talkie beeped. “The anesthesia will be administered in 30 seconds,” he reported.

_He did that on purpose. He’s distracting us from the bigger problem. He left Alex vulnerable, his close proximity allowing him to easily do so. Alex is so trusting. Easy target._

“Jefferson is already in the bunkers,” Aaron read from his phone, this time with a frown barely concealed, unprofessional in any other context. “Waiting for the President to go under.”

_At the Capitol. During the State of the Union. He was there during the explosion. He’s supposed to be near Washington. Yet the bomb that targeted the President didn’t somehow kill him?_

_André was the only one who survived the explosion._

“In 20 seconds,” the doctor piped up. Angelica was glaring at a patch on the floor, her laptop all long forgotten. “Ten.”

_The sole survivor._

“Administrating the anaesthesia,” Dr. Hosack muttered. A muffled voice coming through the walkie-talkie, then, “the President has gone under. We are now proceeding with the surgery.”

_What better time to catch the whole country unguarded than now, when the President is brought down? During a shift of power in the government? Any minute now—_

Aaron’s phone rang once. Aaron released a breath. “It’s confirmed. Jefferson is now the Acting President.”

Eliza exhaled shakily, a dark cloud forming in her mind. She stiffly jumped to her feet and strided to the other room, eager to escape the audience. “Eliza?” John called after her, heavy footsteps following when she did not look back. They probably think that she’s upset at the thought of Jefferson replacing Alex which is honestly, not exactly wrong.

She made sure John made it into the room before closing the door and locking it. John made a sound of confusion but did not protest when Eliza grabbed his hand and led him to the dining table.

“John André is the shooter,” she started, feeling assured suddenly. Eliza turned around, catching just in time as apprehension dawned on his face. She repeated again, pressing each syllable as though to cement the fact firmer into his head, “André is the traitor.”

“I—“ He choked out, taken aback by the sudden accusation. Eliza watched as doubt crept up his face before it was overshadowed by his own reasoning. John furrowed his brows, plopping into a chair. His fingers drummed against the tabletop. His eyes were cast on the plush carpet, calculating. “How did you know?”

Eliza could laugh. “Between him being the only person who escaped alive, _with minor injuries, mind you,_ and his eager closeness to Alex _,_ ” Eliza sat opposite of him, her hand coming up to play with her matted hair, “there was something else that happened. Something I think you should know.”

John looked up sharply at that. “Why is there something I don’t know?”

When Eliza fumbled, searching for an answer in her head, John barked incredulously. “Do you know how dangerous it is? I’m supposed to know everything! I’m the Security Advisor for fuck’s sake!” He hissed, having the concise that they might be overheard.

She panicked. She did not think of that. “I know, please, John,” Eliza pleaded, trying to reason. “I promise it’s kept secret for a reason.”

John snorted harshly, hurt evident on his face. “I have been best friends with Alex since _thirteen years_ ago.” Eliza tried not to flinch. “I knew him since he could only afford eating peanut butter and rice everyday, up until he secured a spot at George _fucking_ Washington’s cabinet. I think I deserve to know whatever this is.”

“Right, you’re right,” she exhaled, trying to make peace. John still held her in a sharp gaze, waiting for her next words. “Just, this is a different kind of secret,” she warned. John just stared wordlessly.

She inhaled a breath. “André forced himself on Alex.”

“What?”

“He forced himself on Alex. The night _we_ blew up the warehouse.” Emphasis on the _we_.

It took a few moments before John’s eyes widened as he stuttered, “Forced himself as in—“

“Cornered Alex in the West Wing’s bathroom, kissed him without consent, _yes,_ that kind of force,” Eliza snapped, tears pricking in her eyes. John absorbed the new information, looking as distraught as she felt. “I myself only knew it from Tallmadge. Oh, I thought it was just bad choices on his—André’s part, he was always so smitten with Alex but when I thought back about it—“

“It was just a coy,” John continued for her, catching on. “A perfect opportunity.” He looked up. “A petty distraction. Alex was distraught and weak then, right? What with the Washingtons’ funeral and the rumours—”

“And _I fired him_ , John,” she almost wailed in despair at the realisation. “God, I was so into my head! I’m so stupid. He could be anywhere now. He could be walking down this very street. Shit, John, what if there’s more plan for attacks? What if this is just the start?” She gasped. “What if there’s more of them?”

John seemed to sense her spiral, because he grabbed her clammy hands before she could ramble again and squeezed them tightly until she breathed properly. Her heartbeat still stuttered multiple times in her chest. “We’ll find him. I’ll make sure of it,” he said sincerely, a serious tone entering his voice. Eliza nodded quietly, clasping her hands in John’s, and she held onto him.

John’s eyes turned dark as his grip tightened. “And when we find him, there’ll be hell to pay.”

They made use of the huge space, the senior staff all conquering the corner. The hospital staff had provided them with tables and plastic chairs which Aaron had gladly took advantage of, his reading glasses already perched on his nose as he settled into his work. Soon enough the area was filled with papers and laptops and random pens, and Eliza felt grateful for the familiar rhythm they launched themselves into. The country still needs someone to make sure it keeps running, after all.

“We’ll need to give them an update later,” Angelica pointed out, aggressively typing into her phone. She made a face and cursed quietly, “These people keep messaging me as though I’m their personal news bank.”

“Tell that to Jefferson. He’ll need to do the broadcast, sooner or later,” John sniped back. “The guy thinks he could just lounge in the Oval Office like a king without doing any work.”

“Working on it,” Eliza muttered quietly, relaying the message to Jefferson’s comm director, though with less bite. “I’ll probably join Jefferson, though. On the broadcast, I mean.”

They all snapped their heads to her, and Eliza fought not to roll her eyes. “What?” She snapped.

Angelica had an indiscernible look in her eyes. “Nothing, just,” she blinked at her, then shrugged. “Oh well. Just, change your clothes.”

“No, don’t,” Aaron countered immediately, and Angelica raised a sharp eyebrow at him.

“Excuse me, _Mr. Perfectionist_ , but what the heck are you thinking?” Angelica jabbed a thumb at her dress. “You can’t tell her to go on national TV in a bloody dress, that’s just gory!”

Aaron rolled his eyes, causing her to bristle. “Message, _Miss Knows-It-All_ , think about the message.” He twirls his pen at Eliza’s dress like a fashion designer choosing his fabric. “Think of it as though the administration is still going strong and standing even if our president is d—hurt.”

“Like Jackie Kennedy,” John piped up, beginning to eye the dress with interest. “Only with less pink.”

“Glad to hear that you’re comparing me with a president who died in the end.” Eliza glared at them, and they clamped their mouth shut. “Stop talking at me like I’m an object.” She’ll apologise for snapping at them later, but she was just tired.

“Fine. Do what you want. You’re the Comms Director,” Angelica relented, waving at her dismissively. Just then the door banged open, and Tallmadge strided to them, Hercules close on his heels. The agents looked quite worse for the wear, disheveled with an almost desperate and manic look in their eyes.

“Laurens, Miss Schuyler,” Tallmadge greeted with a tight nod, and John immediately passed him a thick file, papers and pictures almost overflowing out of it as he sat down. Aaron raised his eyebrows from behind his reading glasses.

“Details of John André. Served in Afghanistan for six years, then returned to the US after a bombing accident. Wife died a few months later, leaving a daughter behind.” John rattled off his memory. Tallmadge flipped through the file in silence, Hercules peeking out to read from behind his shoulder. “Applied for the Secret Service five years ago. Was accepted into training and soon flew through the ranks and finally was assigned into President Washington’s detail, then Hamilton’s.”

Angelica whistled, low and long. “Guy’s had a cool life,” she commented, which only earned her a pinch on the thigh from Eliza.

“Now, what I want to know,” John started, leaning across the table. Tallmadge tore his eyes from the file, shifting his attention to John. “Is how in the world did a terrorist manage to sneak into the President’s detail, heck, even the Secret Service in the first place? My job is to protect the country’s and the President's security foremost. How could I even do my job if could not even trust your own agents?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the answers too,” Tallmadge answered coolly, handing the file to Hercules who dove into it with obsession, eyes zeroing on its contents. “I knew André since he was first in Adam’s detail. Seemed like a nice but haunted man, just lost his wife, is a single dad.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I have no idea he’s like this. When the thing with the President happened I just thought he was being stupid.”

“And this is the part where I assume the ‘thing’ you all keep bringing up to is the reason why he’s fired?” Aaron interjects calmly, typing on his laptop. “Or perhaps the ‘breach of protocol’ you mentioned before?” He glanced at Eliza.

“Something of the sorts,” she replied.

“We’ll still need more proof, though,” Tallmadge sighed. “Me and Herc already chased the whole town for any sign of him to bring in as witness, and we’ve already sent search parties after him, but a charge on planning a conspiracy to assassinate the President?” He shook his head. “That’s a big accusation. We need something concrete.”

The table shook as Hercules dumped the file on it. “Search no more, then,” Hercules furrowed his brows at something on his phone before turning it around towards them. “The lab results from Callender’s devices just came in. His killer may have taken his phone, but they did not take his PC at his home.” He let Tallmadge and Eliza take the phone, and John and Aaron craned their necks to watch. “This was found on his laptop. Somehow Callender has footage inside of the Capitol before the explosion,” Hercules said as they watched the video on the phone. He pointed at the screen. “Look carefully at the man that came out of the House Chamber.”

Eliza’s mouth hung open just as Aaron hiss a breath. “ _André_ ,” John gritted out.

A dangerous look was already taking over Tallmadge’s face. They barely managed to process everything before Tallmadge and Hercules were already out the door, guns loaded and unholstered, ready to kill.

-·=»‡«=·-

Someone stomped on his toes hard, and John had to fight back a curse from slipping out of his mouth in front of the Acting President. “Could you _please_ at least _try_ and not look like you’re constipated on national TV,” Aaron gritted out as he nudged John with his shoe again, though his hand was still clasped professionally behind his back. John huffed discreetly for the nth time, but immediately went for a neutral expression as the camera director signaled them live.

“Good morning my fellow Americans,” Jefferson began his speech, his usually sly face solemn for once, bordering on discomfited if you look carefully. John decided it’s not a good look. “This morning an assassin’s bullet has thrust me into the reign of government prematurely. What was supposed to be a moment of triumph and pride has turned into a mournful day for us. President Hamilton was shot twice through his side and shoulder, and by Article II, Clause 6 of the Constitution, I, Thomas Jefferson was declared as Acting President effective this morning as a product of the President’s inability to govern.”

“It was a deliberate attack, done to try and rattle the rebuilding of our government,” Eliza took over from beside John, her calm voice strangely soothing. She did not change out of her dress. “They had not succeeded. Our president”—John must applaud at Eliza’s use of _our_ —“may have been debilitated by the attack, but he will emerge just as strong as before with no more than just some scars to show.” She placed her hand unabashedly on the back of Jefferson’s seat, and John raised a brow. That was pretty brazen of her, regardless if the same seat was occupied by Alex just some hours ago. Aaron seemed to share this thought because he made a noise at the back of his throat.

When they had called off and the camera crew were quietly packing out of the Oval Office, Aaron leaned to him to whisper, “Is my eyes tricking me or is that Eliza grilling Jefferson on using the Oval?”

John frowned and followed his line of sight, and sure enough Eliza was sitting opposite Jefferson on those beige couches, the former talking while pointing her fingers around the room and Jefferson looking quite overwhelmed. When he stayed quiet, Eliza snapped her fingers to his face, causing him to jolt. John joined Aaron’s snickers. If he didn't know better he’d think that Eliza is the President and Jefferson’s the new intern.

“At least when he gets back Alex will find his office to be in good shape,” Aaron chuckled. John joined him, but both of them noticed that their laughter was tinged with somber.

-·=»‡«=·-

_“Our promise is made to you,”_ Jefferson said. _“The cowardice of these terrorists’s actions will be repaid as befitting the pain and sorrow they had implicated on the nation.”_

Eliza Schuyler raised her chin slightly at Jefferson’s words, the gesture a sharp contrast to her soiled dress. A clever one, André had to admit. Twitter is flooding with praises and condolences for her and the administration, but going on TV looking like Jackie Kennedy must be boosting the people’s sympathy for Alex and Eliza. Their reelection would be a fucking landslide. André stabbed the jelly a bit aggressively, before realising his position and scooped out a portion. _“It is with profound hope that this tragedy of today will bind us as one in these hours of sorrow. God bless America.”_

André did not even notice that his hold on the spoon had gone sideways and that the gollop of jelly was sliding on the hospital’s bed sheets. “Dad?” Someone poked his arm. His eyes were fixed at the TV, at Eliza and that bastard Jefferson’s face. He'd rather eat glass than see Jefferson get elected as President. A tug on his sleeve. “Dad!”

“I—what?” He turned back but the sudden movement only knocked the cup of jelly off the tray and onto the floor. He almost cursed. “Shi—I mean, crap. Sorry,” he scrambled for the tissue on the bedside, forgetting that he was still holding the spoon. It stabbed the figure on the bed.

“It tickles, Dad!” Lovell giggled, pushing the spoon away from her side. André gave her an apologetic smile before trying to wipe the jelly off the floor.

“Why is jelly so tricky,” he grumbled, the jelly kept refusing to get into the tissue. Lovell giggled again when he let out a triumphant, _“Aha!”_ and tossed the jelly-stained tissue straight into the dustbin in the corner. “Perfect shot,” he smirked.

Lovell clapped good-humouredly, a wide grin on her little face. “That was a good shot,” she agreed. André winked and cleared her tray, leaving it aside for the nurse to pick up later. “You still haven’t answered my question,” she stated as her eyes followed him as he cleaned up. André raised an eyebrow.

“And what’s the question?” He smiled, taking back his place at his daughter’s bedside.

She points a finger at the TV, who has now cut back to the cartoons that were playing before the address. “Why are you not out catching the bad guys?”

His smile flagged a bit. “What bad guys?”

She shrugged. “You know? The bad guys that shoot the President?” She stated as though it was obvious. This time his heart felt like it dropped into his stomach, the acid churning it. “Your job is to protect the President, right? Ex—exetuti—”

“Executive protector,” he corrected gently. He smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

Her wide eyes turned confused. “Then why are you here? You’re supposed to be catching the bad guys!” She urged, pushing weakly at his arm. He could see her getting more and more exhausted with every move she makes.

He took a deep breath, then shook his head, willing his heart to not fail on him. “I’d rather be here, protecting you,” he booped her nose.

Lovell gave him a toothy grin, eyes already starting to droop. “Okay,” she went with it. “You’ll protect me. I like it when you are here anyway, and not working.”

His throat closed up on him, and he muttered, “You don’t like me working?”

She nodded eagerly while stifling a yawn. “Jade said that your work is cool. Melissa too. Because you get to keep the President safe. But I love you more than I love the President anyway,” she muttered, fighting to keep her eyes open. She’s been getting weaker these days.

At loss of words, André only said, “Go to sleep.”

Lovell shook her head eagerly, this time with a yawn. “Don’t wanna. You’ll always be gone when I wake up later.”

André squeezed her hand, careful to not jostle the IV. “Just sleep. I’ll be here.”

She did not even argue, eyes already fluttering shut. André sighed. These days it was hard for her to even stay awake long enough to see him before his shift. He glanced at the clock to see if it’s 3 before pinching himself. _You don’t have a shift, dummy._

A knock on the door and the nurse’s head popped in. “John?” Helen called out. “There’s someone who’s requesting to meet you.”

André frowned but nodded regardless. He sighed, squeezed his daughter’s hand one last time before heading outside.

He was barely closing the door behind him before someone slammed him head first to the wall, yanking his arms behind him. André gasped, a thousand stars spinning in his vision. “You _dared_ to hide your sorry ass in the same fucking hospital as the President,” Tallmadge growled into his ears, his hand making quick work of the handcuffs on him. André winced at the bruising grip, metal digging into his skin. Tallmadge didn’t pay notice, in fact tightening the handcuffs further. “You’re lucky the President escaped alive. If not I’ll fucking shoot you in these hallways myself.”

His heart was still pounding in his chest as he was frog-marched through the hallways, every nurse and doctors and staff coming out to see the commotion and whispering to each other, a dozen Secret Service agents with guns guarding his front and back. He had to avert his eyes from Helen, the poor lady looking aghast at his walk of shame.

When he kept his eyes cast on the floor as they stepped into the elevator, Tallmadge tugged him roughly backwards, causing him to stumble humiliatingly on his step. “Eyes forward, soldier,” he barked, flicking his chin upwards. André winced, but his spine still went straight. “This is the last time you’ll ever see daylight.”

-·=»‡«=·-

_The halls were remarkably quiet that night, every congressman and senators in the House Chamber. Ivan whistled to himself, the whistle notes bouncing sharply on the thick walls. He enjoyed these few moments of repose, sweeping the carpet with nothing but his trusty broom and a cart of cleaning supplies, and his own opinions. Sometimes he is perplexed himself, how he could waste his retirement age working here when he hates everyone else who works here, those stuffy congressmen and pompous senators. He could afford to just retire in his cozy house, spend the whole day with his dogs, go bring his sons hunting sometimes. Then again his life has been nothing but adventures, and the gossip here is more than enough to pass his time. Lots of votes of confidence, a quid pro quo here, someone backstabbed someone else. It’s entertaining for his old man brain._

_Satisfied, he placed his broom back in his cart next to the mop. George Washington’s voice was getting clearer and clearer as he pushed the cart further down the hall. Ivan doesn't know what to make of the great man. Seemed nice. Bought him lunch once when his aide (Assistant? Staff? Ivan hasn’t cared to know) spilled coffee all over the carpet when running around yelling into his phone. Ivan had shrugged, took his offer. Hasn’t thought much about it until a year later when he announced his candidacy. When asked by other senators, Ivan just said that he got no dirty secret that he knows of. ‘Twas true. 7 years later and the man’s been reelected as President. Ivan himself voted for him. In his defense the Republican nominee was just horrid._

_One of those heavy doors leading into the Chamber cracked open with a great groan. Ivan raised his eyebrows, forehead wrinkling. It was one of those men in suits he frequently sees, but this one he does not recognise. He seems ripped, and looks way more experienced than the kids they send here. He must be one of the President’s men._

_Ivan just watched as the agent sneaked out of the door and hurried away. Ivan took out his phone and opened his camera and followed him. Out of all the lessons his grandchildren taught him about smartphones, this is the one thing he actually remembers. He followed the agent quietly, recording the whole time. A Secret Service agent sneaking out of his post? That’s damning, for sure. Ivan just felt giddy, prowling the halls catching the roguish agent in the act._

_The agent slipped into one of the fire escapes, the fireproof doors closing on his face. Ivan grinned proudly, making sure his finger pressed the stop button then checking the gallery to see if the video was saved. He whistled back to his abandoned cart, looking forward to sharing this new discovery with any congressman or senator that is bored during lunchtime and eager for some gossip._

_Callender coughed out dust from his lungs as his feet carried him through the rubbles. There were screams in the air, and sirens as dozens of ambulances and firetrucks poured into the compound. Perfect for him to sneak in. Still, a strange kind of silence blanketed over him as soon as he stepped into the area as the noise from the barks of search and rescue dogs and SWAT teams sifting for suspects merely dispersed into the open air and between the cracks of concrete rubbles._

_He tugged his shirt over his mouth, desperate for some air. He walked some more before stepping onto something. He stepped back and looked. A man in a blue suit, turned over. What little flesh he could see under the suit looked cooked, and Callender hadn’t dared to look at his face. He cringed as he let his hand wander over the body, the fabric of the suit crumbling like ashes under his touch. He touched something hard on the man’s side. His hand sneaked into an opening and he pulled out a phone._

_Satisfied with this discovery, he pulled back and turned over the phone in his hand. It was cracked and warped from the explosion, but he was delighted when he found that the phone could be turned on. Callender tried to not look at the wallpaper, a photo of the man and his wife in front of some monument. There were no passcodes, and Callender easily went in._

_First stop, the gallery._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha.
> 
> Hey, it’s me, freshly dug out from my grave. So I overestimated my ability to study for finals and at the same time write a decent chapter. To be fair I’m not surprised at this revelation, just disappointed lol. Anyway I had finished writing this chapter a few days before my supposed schedule but I deleted it all and started back from scratch because my writing was truly horrendous. (I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned my supposed ‘three to four weeks’ schedule. Ha. Good job, Sasha.) And honestly the only reason I managed to finish this chapter was because my school’s area is back on lockdown (yay/nay depending on the type of person you are), so I have lots of free time after online class.
> 
> Also Election Day is nearing and for those of you that lives in America, are you okay up there? I felt like I have no idea of your conditions. You guys might be upside down for all I know. Still, stay safe, wear your masks, and trust me I’ll pray for your elections. *finger guns*
> 
> Tl;dr: Sorry for the late chapter and stay safe (the Americans especially)!
> 
> P/s: notice how I didn’t make any promise for the next chapter


	10. Interlude, No 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite graphic description of an attempt on asphyxiation.

“Miss Schuyler,” the officer called. “He’s ready.”

Eliza straightened her lapels, nodding to Meade. Meade signalled at the officer inside the room, and the heavy door clicked open from the inside. The silence was palpable. Eliza offered a trembling smile to Meade before slipping inside the room.

The officer adjusted the camera at the corner of the room for a few moments. Eliza waited until he clicked his heels and saluted before leaving the room.

She approached the table slowly, the click of her heels bouncing around the room. She dragged the chair slowly. The screeching it made against the concrete floor was deafening. Still, the man across her didn’t raise his head.

“The President’s looking good,” she spoke, and André jolted harshly in his seat, the handcuff chains rattling loudly against itself. When those eyes flickered to her, she continued, “We told the public that the doctors said he might wake up sooner than was expected. Jefferson’s already preparing to leave the Oval Office.” She shrugged, a smile playing on her lips. “He didn’t even get to mess with his financial plan.”

André’s bruised eyes stared at her. She held her grounds. His tongue poked inside his cheeks, his eyes barely flickering. A few tense seconds passed before he looked away. Admitting defeat. The small victory bloomed in her chest, accompanied closely with something akin to curling satisfaction. She knocked him off on the wrong feet—and he knew it.

Just barely a day in his capture and she could already spot the cracks in his exterior. He was fidgety, so much so that his chains rattled every few seconds. They hadn’t been nice to him, she could tell. Not that she minded. Her eyes automatically flew to his lips. Burst lips, _from Tallmadge_ , her mind supplied from the conversation she had with Wolcott. Those offending lips, daring to force on Alex a week before.

The curling satisfaction flared into delight.

“Well I certainly wasn’t expecting to be honoured with the future First Lady’s visit,” he played it instead, a smirk pulling on his wounded lips. Her left eye twitched. “What brought you to come see little ol’ me?”

She shrugged. “Just about your daughter,” she said, taking out the files she brought with her. André sat up straight at that, eyeing them warily. Eliza felt guilt clawing up her chest at the faraway look in his eyes, before pushing it all aside. This man is responsible for the collapse of an entire nation’s government. He doesn’t need her compassion.

“They wanted to put her in the system, which is expected, but that’s not very fair to our dear Lovell, I think,” she started, watching if there’s any change in his expression. When he stayed silent, she continued, “So I contacted my friend, Isabella Graham1?” She raised a brow, waiting for some spark of recognition on his face. André just looked up and stared at her, face not betraying any emotions. Eliza sighed.

“She came down here to DC and met Lovell herself this morning,” as she said it, André raised his head sharply. Eliza gave him a look, almost pleading. “She’s a good woman. I trust her. She promised to take care of Lovell at the institution as soon as she’s healthy enough to travel to New York.” She masterfully avoided the topic of Lovell’s illness, opening a section of the file and procuring a pamphlet from it. She slid it across the table. André pursed his lips but still took it, leaning back in his chair as he read silently.

Eliza sighed again, drumming her fingernails on the table. It had become a habit for her, she noticed. She kept getting fidgety these days. Perhaps she got it from Alex.

“Graham Windham,” he repeated loudly, eyes meeting hers above the pamphlet. Eliza, not knowing of what else to say, nodded. His mouth unexpectedly twisted into a sneer. “Now you suddenly want to help me?” He scorned. “What about when you pulled me away from my daughter?”

“Don’t think this is about you,” she snapped back, tired of playing this game. “I’m doing this for Lovell. She did not deserve what she faces now, without any parents or someone she could trust.”

“Should’ve thought of that before putting me in this hell.”

“Don’t blame us. This was all your own undoing.”

He almost rose from his seat at that. A sharp, warning look from Eliza, and his handcuffs rattled sharply as they pulled against the iron restraint sent him back down, reminding him of his situation. There were people watching from the security cameras, and they would not hesitate to bust in and sedate him, if not before Eliza hitting the panic button she had underneath the table.

“At least feel a bit grateful,” Eliza sneered, snatching back the pamphlet and the file containing Lovell’s documents. “Do you think they all care? She was going to be put in the system. It would be hell on her, being the daughter of a _terrorist_.

“ _I_ at least made an effort to make sure she’s actually taken care properly.” She raised up sharply, chair dragging back with a screech. André looked up at her with barely concealed contempt behind his eyes, and she fought back a shiver. Turning on her heels, she gave one last comment, saying, “The President would’ve wanted her to at least have a decent childhood. Not going from family to family, growing up hearing her father tried to assassinate the President.”

A beat. Then, “Alex’s not looking good, is he?”

Jaws clenched as Eliza froze in her tracks. A snarl climbed up her throat. “Don’t call him Alex.”

André chuckled, and she could hear the chains rattling against each other as he shifted. “What did I hear? Ah yes, his heart stopped for a few minutes, right? Hemorrhage during surgery.” He cackled again. “He may not even wake up. They got him _good_.”

“You’re not really helping with your case here.”

“So it’s true then.” She could hear the smirk in his voice, the sly voice climbing up her spine. Chains rattling again, before, “Didn’t sound like it during the address yesterday. You guys spun the survivor thing good.”

Her chest was heaving, whether from fear or anger, she wasn’t sure. Her feet were fast to the door, and she startled badly when André hummed with a sing-song. “Better get back fast to your Alex, _Betsey._ ”

Her grip tightened around the file as she left without another word, for fear of what she’ll say. A quick journey through the security again (she’s well known enough) and then she’s in the motorcade again, heart beating a mile, hands trembling in her lap.

“I want to see Alexander,” was immediately out her mouth before an agent could even close her door. Meade nodded in his driver’s seat, muttering something through his in-ears before they took off.

The whole journey was just her staring at the girl’s picture pasted on the first paper in the file. Round, brown eyes stared back, the face to which it belongs is sweet and cheerful. She definitely inherited her father’s nose and innocent eyes, she thought. It was hard to think that this sweet girl’s father was a terrorist. Eliza sucked in a breath and closed the file.

“Did Al-Sakar claim anything?”

“Nothing from them yet, ma’am,” Meade answered, his eyes flickering to hers through the rearview mirror. Eliza hummed shakily, sitting back on her seat. Her brow raised when she noticed the agent pursed his lips before shaking his head slightly, muttering to himself.

She tilted her head. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He started, head whipping back with wide eyes. Eliza laughed softly, waving her hand. “Eyes on the road, agent.”

“Oh,” he turned back, amused eyes meeting hers through the mirror again. “Sorry, ma’am.” The agent let out a distraught sigh, before his mouth curled into a smile. “This has been one of the hardest jobs I’ve gotten, and I used to be on John Adam’s detail.”

Eliza laughed at that, Mead joining in a few beats later. “Well I’m glad you’re not bored working for me,” she smiled. “I’m aware I could be a bore sometimes, compared to Alex.”

“Not at all, ma’am,” he gave her a good humoured grin, “It will be the day hell freeze over if I’m ever bored working for the Hamilton administration.” Eliza reciprocated the grin, before she blinked as it waned, looking back out the window.

Her heart squeezed in her chest at the thought of their administration. They were, truthfully, just bits of scraps leftover from Washington’s staff, juniors, really, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. They were lucky to have Alex as their president. Or perhaps, Alex was lucky to have them as his staff. She smiled. She couldn’t think of any other person in DC that could possibly control him other than Aaron.

“I—I think you’re very strong, ma’am,” Meade broke the silence, his eyes flickering up to meet hers. He shrugged when Eliza furrowed her brows. “If I were you I’d lock myself in the White House to cry all day,” he smiled. “I appreciate how you chose to be strong for the sake of the nation. Us knowing you’d be keeping an eye on Jefferson while he’s in the Oval is probably what keeps the country from going into riots.” He paused. “It may also have made us Secret Service fall in love with you.”

She let out an un-ladylike snort. “You guys just hate Jefferson.”

“Off the record, ma’am? True. You wouldn’t want to know what sort of shady shit I saw him do in his free time.”

-·=»‡«=·-

John woke up with someone tapping his arm lightly, and he snuffled loudly, snorting in the process. Tinkles of laughter were heard above him, and he groaned, burying his face deeper into the mattress.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s almost lunch,” Eliza prodded him again. He moaned. She laughed again. “Go shower. You’re disgusting.”

“Ugh,” was all that he said, and he rubbed his eyes, sitting up from his position on the floor. Only to regret it, since his neck was protesting due to its position when he was sleeping. He winced, hand flying to the back of his neck. “Ah—okay, that hurts.”

“I told you to sleep on the couch in the lounge,” she raised her eyebrows, taking out her laptop and setting her bag near the foot of the bed. John shrugged. He moved from his spot by Alex, albeit reluctantly, squeezing his pale hand one more time before giving up his spot to Eliza. She grabbed the plush chair, then settled in with her laptop on her lap.

As John was rummaging for his change of clothes and towel, Eliza muttered, “Nothing from him yet?”

“Nah, they removed the one in his side late last night after you went back to the White House so he’s still pretty knocked out on anaesthesia,” he replied, slinging the towel across his shoulder. He waved with a toothbrush as he headed to the bathroom, “Oh, don’t forget, the nurse will come to clean his bandages later.”

Eliza hummed in acknowledgement as the door clicked shut. She brushed a few stray hairs from Alex’s face, before letting her fingers trail down from behind his ears, down his jaw and neck before it led to the patch of bandage that covered the wound in his right shoulder. Alex would definitely be bitching about his arm in the sling later. She smiled softly.

“You’re probably gonna be very smug about this,” she muttered, deciding to fuss with the blanket tangled by his feet. “But Jefferson still uses his office down the hall, so your Oval’s still intact.

“He wishes you well, though,” Eliza sighed and rested her hand on his calve, turning back to his face as though a response will come. “You’d probably be disgusted by this, but you should see his face,” she said with a watery laugh. When the reply came as silence, she pressed further, “I think he’s genuinely worried.”

But nothing passed over his features, not even the flicker of a dream beneath his eyelids. He was so still and pale, like a resting sculpture at a mausoleum. Still beautiful, but unalive.

Tears burned behind her eyelid, and she squeezed them close tightly. Not now. There’s still so much work to do. She sighed, blinked repeatedly, willing the moisture away. All around her was evidence of their unfinished tasks, where just last night the place was buzzing from aides going in and out of the room as the senior staff were huddled together, almost a copy of the scene after the bombing of the Capitol.

Angelica’s crumpled drafts of their speech, this time without Alex’s myriad of comments accompanying their writings. Aaron’s notepad, the square papers littered everywhere with his incessant writings, and most importantly John’s classified files, strewn across the floor beside the bed.

A shaky exhale went past her lips as she cracked open her laptop, firing it up. Aaron may have relieved her of her tasks, saying she’s in no state of mind to do business with people, but just sitting here staring at Alex will make her go crazy. Might as well get her report done to be sent to Ale—Jefferson. Send it to Jefferson.

Time flew fast as she typed away, disturbed only when the nurse and doctor came in to check his vitals and bandages. Even then they worked fast and silently, muttering things to each other that she couldn’t quite catch. They slipped away soon after that.

“I need to meet Tallmadge,” John emerged, hair slick and pushed back from the shower. “You okay by yourself?”

Her eyes flicked away from her screen to Alex’s still form. Dry lips parted. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

-·=»‡«=·-

John’s office became their point of rendezvous since the Capitol reopening, since it’s only a short walk from the lobby and perfectly secluded from the rest of the West Wing, tucked away in a corner of the building without any prying eyes or lost interns stumbling upon their spot. As a result, the room was almost always in a constant state of tranquility when there’s no meetings.

Tallmadge was about to doze off beneath the pile of reports and intel he was supposed to go through, exhausted after being constantly on the move for the past 24 hours after the assassination attempt on the President. So when John shoved a tablet to Tallmadge’s face, he startled badly, his moment of peace destroyed.

“Watch this,” John just shook the tablet again, urging him to take it. Tallmadge sighed as he blinked the sleep away from his eyes, taking the tablet at the incessant urging.

He watched the footage in silence as John stared, waiting for him to comment. After a few seconds, Tallmadge looked up at him, face blank. “And what am I supposed to do?”

“No, look,” John pointed at the screen. Tallmadge looked again, unimpressed.

“That’s André.”

“Exactly!”

“So?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re just proving the fact that André was at the site.”

“Yes, exactly,” John used two fingers to zoom on the paused video, on André’s face. The security footage was from inside a bakery, though the glass display in front of the shop clearly showed people trying to escape, shoving each other and running away. André, whose face was shadowed slightly from his cap, but undoubtedly him, was there among the crowds, jogging off to somewhere.

John tapped the screen repeatedly as though to prove his point. “Look, he’s at ground level along with the other people.”

“Yes, because he ran down from the building where he shot the President to escape.”

“No,” John pressed further, this time scrolling down to the timestamp on the security footage. “Look. Nine-thirty two a.m.”

The agent’s brows furrowed as he did the calculations in his head. “And the shot rang out—”

“At nine thirty one in the morning,” John confirmed, leaning back. “That’s way too little time for him to run from upstairs. He’s not our shooter.”

“Or, he’s the first gunshot we heard from the square,” Tallmadge muttered quietly. “Wait, what did the report say from the sniper’s spot?”

John latched on to his thoughts immediately. “They found the infliction of a bullet at the window sill,” he gaped, a smile formed on his face. But it quickly turned upside down as he realised something. “André shot upwards. At the shooter.”

“Then the sniper missed, causing the bullet to hit the President’s torso instead of his head, which he must be aiming at,” Tallmadge caught on. Confusion settled on his face, a tick on his forehead showing his usually concealed fear. He whispered, “Our assassin is free.”

“This is definitely a group work,” John said seriously, sitting on his desk. He pursed his lips. “I’m guessing André worked for…whoever they are, but when they wanted to assassinate Alex, he dropped out and tried to stop them.”

Tallmadge looked up at him. “Do you think André’s the only insider in the White House?”

John frowned. He looked up at the closed door of his office, where behind it lies the hallway to the rest of the West Wing. “Well, I really hope not.”

-·=»‡«=·-

Hosack smiled at a passing nurse as he unlocked his private office, slipping into it the moment it cracked open. He immediately got out of his scrubs, dumping them on his couch and made a beeline to his Keurig. A few minutes later he was lounging on his office chair, a cup of warm coffee in his hands and his feet propped on his desk.

His 10-hour-shift was prolonged when the President arrived last morning, bleeding profusely and barely alive, and the adrenaline was enough to keep him on his feet. Then again when he needed to lead his second surgery last night, this time helped with the stress of not messing up as he carefully extracted the second bullet lodged way too close to Hamilton’s spine.

Then he went further on his second shift the next morning all the way until midnight, fueled only with a two hour sleep he managed to squeeze between there. Suffice to say, his brain was ready to shut down for the night, and he left the mug on his desk, promising himself that he’ll wash it later. Now, the only thought plaguing his mind was his wife and his bed warm at home.

He quickly fetched his coat and bag dumped in the corner of the office. As he fussed with his buttons, the door creaked open, and he sighed in dejection.

“Please don’t tell me—”

A grunt escaped Hosack’s lips as a needle poked through his neck. His shout of alarm came out as a dumb slur, before sleep pulled forcibly on his eyelids. He fell over onto himself with a dull thud.

Seeing the doctor unmoving, the attacker grinned as he slipped away the syringe into his sleeve. The scrubs piled on the floor were quickly donned. He swiped at the doctor’s ID card and pocketed it. Fully dressed, he dragged the limp body on the floor and onto the couch with a grunt, propping the doctor to look as though he’s asleep.

Satisfied, he slipped out before making his way down the hall. As he passed an empty surgery room, he tossed the syringe into a yellow bin, marked with the symbol of a skull. He even snatched a patient’s clipboard abandoned on a table for a more convincing performance.

The Secret Service agents barely batted an eye on him as he swiped the card, and the heavy doors opened easily. Soon enough he found himself walking in the warm lighting of the lounge of the very elaborate presidential suite, his light footsteps clicking on the hardwood floor. Disgust coursed through his vein at such blatant display of wealth, his upper lip curled up.

The darkwood door creaked as he slipped into the dark room, moonlight shining through the cracks of heavy curtains being his only guide. The only sound he could hear was the steady beep of the ECG machine, in rhythm with the soft breathing of the still figure on the bed.

He crept up on the President. To see the most powerful man in the world, looking very much fragile and weak on a bed sent a thrill up his spine. The guy who was supposed to have the entire nuclear arsenal at his disposal, and he’s strapped in a sling.

A giddy smile stretched wide across his face behind his surgical mask. So much power he held now, he could just…

He grabbed a fluffy pillow lodged beside the figure. The pillow felt quite heavy as he draped it over the President’s face. A moment of silence for him, relishing the sound of Hamilton’s heartbeat in the background. But the moment passed quickly when he realised he likes the sound better when it was silent.

The pristine white pillow made for a comfortable cushion for his hand as he leaned his whole weight on it, smothering the President’s air passage. Behind him the machine beeped slightly faster, but soon enough it became erratic when he didn’t relent. The President jerked and choked without any sign of awareness, lying there perfectly placant and sweet for him. He grinned again, and pressed down harder.

The beeping came faster and urgently. He savoured the sound, and smiled when it started to get weaker. Deciding that he wanted to see his victim’s face, he lifted away the pillow. Nimble fingers trailed down furrowed eyebrows and high cheekbones, resting on the nose as the body it belonged to shook harshly as it fought for oxygen. He tilted his head, lips pursed.

Noises rose from outside the room, and he knew he can’t play around anymore. A hand swiftly smothered the President’s mouth, and he pinched his nose tightly. The body beneath him struggled once more. He pressed his lips together as footsteps were getting closer. He put in more force.

Alex’s eyes flew wide open.

When the doctors and nurses burst into the room and someone switched on the lights, they found the President upright and curled up in his bed, wide eyed and shaking in terror even as he was gasping violently for breath, and the window beside his bed wide open, curtains fluttering in the night breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isabella Graham, alongside with her daughter Joanna Bethune, and friend, Eliza Hamilton established the Orphan Asylum Society (the Graham Home for Children) in New York City, which would later merge with Windham Child Care in 1977 to create the Graham Windham. Back
> 
> I apologise for my atrocious medical knowledge. Also would you look at that, I updated on time. It’s like my school is under permanent lockdown or something.
> 
> Also, yay Biden!


	11. My Dear Laurens

_**ACT III - THE JOKER** _

“The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.”

_  
NY Times | 09:14 AM  
_ **A President Taken Down, A Terrorist Dead and An Agent Arrested: The War Is Far From Over**

A staggering reported total of 25 million people tuned in for the highly anticipated live broadcast of the Capitol reopening. We were excited at the prospect of building back up a branch of government that was incapacitated at the Capitol bombing, both literally and figuratively.

That was, until the President was shot live on national TV. Twice.

And when just this morning press secretary Angelica Schuyler revealed an attempt of assassination, again, sometimes during last night.

Admittedly, my fellow journalists and myself included were more than a little hopeful with Hamilton’s administration, with its promise of change and repair of our government that has been hanging by a thread ever since that fateful night. Or maybe, we like the idea of Alexander Hamilton. He’s young, he’s a decorated veteran, and he was trusted by his predecessor, the great George Washington himself. And from what we could see from his time in the Treasury he’s _very_ progressive, earning him extra brownie points with the increasing pool of young voters.

We forget that he’s just one man. And like George Washington, we forget that he too, could be taken out.

The prospect of peace was supposed to be long achieved with the death of Majid Nassar in Operation Nightingale that was headed by Hamilton himself. Instead, our country finds itself in shambles _again_ with our President incapacitated by an act of terrorism, and with an even more shocking twist, the arrest of a Secret Service agent that was very close to the President. And the realisation that _this nightmare is not yet over_ pretty much dawned over the whole country in that horrifying second.

The executive branch is not looking good, either. Right now, without a full Cabinet member and a barely conscious President, the country finds itself being led by acting president Thomas Jefferson and acting veep Peggy Rensselaer, the only one member of the cabinet that were officially confirmed, with the help of the Hamilton administration’s (probably highly caffeinated) senior staff. Never have once in the history of the United States did the country found itself being horribly understaffed in the administrative department.

And such cautions in the Cabinet are to be expected, as director of the FBI, Oliver Wolcott put it, when there’s ”no one I trust as long as this investigation is ongoing, and not even in the heart of the capital itself.”

-·=»‡«=·-

“His blood pressure is a bit low, but it has nothing to do with his heart complications during the surgery, so it’s nothing significant,” the doctor rattled. Eliza pressed her lips, tapping her shoes impatiently. This was the same doctor she met the day Alex was shot, and the doctor—Maria—have been talking for the past two minutes. Eliza knew she should be listening, but currently her only focus was the room behind Maria’s shoulder, Alex’s sleeping silhouette visible.

She fought back a yawn while she nodded absent-mindedly at whatever the doctor was saying. Her watch showed 3 am last she checked in the motorcade, but whatever thought of sleep had left her mind when an agent woke her up from sleep just a mere half hour earlier, bearing the news of a second attempt on assassination. She’d scrambled out of the cold bed and was in the motorcade in mere minutes, clad in yesterday’s pants and cardigan that she found on the floor.

They could not find the intruder, of course. Checked the whole block and back. No one was suspicious. Checked the prison complex, and sure enough, André was still there. He’s not going anywhere.

What she thought as the truth was just not applicable anymore. The facts were easier, once.

André was an imposter. Check. He somehow filtrated his way into the White House. Check. He’s a terrorist who doesn’t like the government. Check. He bombed 99% of the legislative and executive branch. Check. But he didn’t try to kill the President? That’s where the line blurs, she supposed.

Even last night John and Tallmadge sat them, the senior advisors down. They felt betrayed, especially by John when he blurted out, Majid Nassar is not dead. Never was, never intended. He was safely tucked away in a confidential location. Alex lied to her. He lied to everyone. The nation, the White House staff, his _closest advisors._ Aaron was furious. Angelica was hurt. John was sorry. Eliza was—bewildered?

She can’t even trust Alex.

They don’t even know if Nassar was truly the one they are after. Heck, no one knows where André lies in this equation. Is he the bomber? Is he the victim? They just know that he’s _bad_.

“—you can go in now—”

At the golden phrase she knocked herself out of her thoughts and let her body lead her to the room, almost shoving Maria away in her haste. The universe however, seemed to like to torture her because the doctor grabbed her forearms, pulling her back out from the room. When Eliza glared at her, Maria raised a hand. “Apologies, but wait, Miss Schuyler.”

“What is it?” Eliza snapped before she could even register her rude tone. Courtesy was far from her grasp now.

“Sorry. But uh, another thing is, the President keeps bringing up this man.” Eliza did not miss the way Maria tacked a question mark at the last moment.

This was the doctor that she met the day Alex was shot. The thought that she too might’ve not slept in the last 48 hours crossed Eliza’s mind when exhaustion marked Maria’s features as she shrugged, “We had drugged him earlier, so it might just be the medications talking. And none of us had any idea of who he might be referring to, we just told the President that the man’s on his way, though I’m hoping you would know who.” Maria pursed her lips. “Maybe console him?”

“Who’s the man?”

“I believe it’s by the name of ‘George’?”

Eliza stared blankly at her. “I’m not sure— _oh_ ,” she said dumbly, brows raised before her expression settled into frown. “Oh.”

“Of course, he is confused and disoriented from waking up, so it’s totally understandable if it’s just drunken rambling,” she continued. Eliza stayed silent, pursing her lips. The doctor tilted her head. “Uh, ma’am?”

Eliza stayed muted and walked past the confused doctor and into the room, this time without obstacle. Footsteps followed behind her but she paid no mind to it as she sat on the edge of the bed, grasping Alex’s good hand. When he sniffled and fluttered his eyelids open, she smiled softly as his dazed eyes blinked. Alex looked warily at their clasped hands.

“Hi,” she whispered.

Only then did foggy eyes trailed up, meeting hers. An awkward moment passed with Alex staring at her, forehead cinched as though she was a stranger. His hand was limp in her hold.

She let out a relieved breath when he tentatively grinned, almost boyish. His eyes crinkled as he rasped out, “I feel like I should know you, though I’m not opposed to us getting familiar all over again.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

The attempt at seduction failed miserably with his ridiculous hospital gown and clear exhaustion marking his features. Eliza barked a laugh, feeling a genuine smile pulling at her muscles even if it was a bit watery. Alex seemed to not be joking though, expression serious as he intently watched her shook her head. She blushed a bit at his stare, feeling more than a bit ridiculous. “Well, I would like that too, dear sir.”

When Alex smiled dumbly at her response, eyes drooping, Eliza turned to the doctor, “Is he supposed to be like this?”

“We had expected his memory to be addled, with the heavy painkillers. His brain will be back to full capacity when he’s fully conscious, so it’s nothing to worry about.”

A string of unintelligible words came up from the bed, and Eliza frowned at Alex. “What?”

“Can I see George?” Alex mumbled again, eyes closed.

Eliza exchanged glances with the doctor. The doctor raised an eyebrow. Eliza sighed. She reached out to push back his hair, muttering, “Washington’s not here, sweetheart.”

She must’ve not been as quiet as she thought because when Eliza glanced up again, Maria’s face was flushed. The doctor nodded before scuttering out of the room quickly, sensing that this was not something for her eyes.

Alex frowned, shifting away from Eliza’s touch. “But—”

“Shh,” she hushed. “You’re tired. Go to sleep.”

Thankfully Alex chose not to refute, even if his pinched look did not go away as his breath evened out. Eliza slumped in her seat, taking a staggering breath for herself.

“You need coffee in your system. You look horrible,” Angelica threw the comment as they pushed through the door of the coffee shop. The bell chimed. It is one of those places where only the right people knew about. It was refreshingly void of politicians and interns seeing as it was far from the White House and Capitol Hill. Or probably just because there were no congresspeople to speak of at the moment.

“I _do not_ look horrible,” Eliza mumbled. She was more than a little offended, absently running fingers through her hair. They were greasy, and her fingers snagged in its tangles. A frown surfaced on her face. Angelica was not that better off.

“Your hair’s a bird nest. I’m sure there’s an egg in there somewhere. _Point is_ ,” Angelica dumped her bag on a table, “You should really make use of those nice rain showerheads you have in the Residence. The water pressure you guys have in your bathroom1 does wonders for my back.” She grinned, the movement only pronouncing the dark circles under her eyes. It seemed contrary as she said, “I’ve never felt more alive.”

Eliza’s movements halted and her eyebrows shot up towards the sky. “You used our _shower_?”

Instead of answering, her sister just plopped gracefully into a seat, wearing a confident grin for someone that broke into the White House’s residence. “I _believe_ you were going to order me a cup of latte.”

Eliza narrowed her eyes but obeyed, letting her feet drag herself to the counter. The Secret Service were certainly being way too friendly with Angelica, if they let her into the Residence uninvited. She made a mental note to add showers in the West Wing’s numerous bathrooms to avoid another break-in from the President’s own staff.

The counter was blessedly vacant and Eliza easily slipped in front of the cashier, reciting her orders in her head. A few clipped responses from her when the guy at the register mentioned that he ‘knows her from somewhere,’ and soon Eliza was balancing a cup of latte and macchiato to their table.

“You know I love you, right?” Angelica spoke up when she set her latte in front of her, inhaling the scent.

The sudden confession has Eliza’s hand slipping and her macchiato sloshed in its cup, spilling over the edge. She cursed when her finger hit the hot liquid, blistering. Angelica offered her a napkin. Eliza set the cup on the table and sucked her finger inside her mouth while she dabbed away the mess.

“Is it that shocking?” Angelica cockily said while Eliza took her seat, still hissing from the pulsing sensation on her fingers.

“I would like to say no,” she mumbled, glancing up at Angelica. Angelica’s smile had turned upside down when she realised that her sister was not joking. Eliza winced inwardly when awkward seconds spanned before them. Angelica’s expression was almost akin to hurt, and it was like all her eloquence left her as she scrambled for an excuse, not wanting to disappoint her sister. “I mean, not that,” Eliza frantically gestured between them, “We’re _bad_ , you know? Uh, like, I _know_ , but—”

“But you don’t usually think I do,” Angelica finished off smoothly. Eliza winced, letting her hands drop awkwardly on her lap.

“Yeah,” she said dumbly. As though they were kids again and Angelica was being way too witty for her small mind to understand. Angelica sighed audibly, and she had to fight an urge to correct herself.

“I know we both work in the White House, and even if we see each other every day it feels like we’re not even sisters, just coworkers,” Angelica admitted shamelessly. At that, Eliza raised her eyebrows, ready to refute but Angelica just laughed. “Come on, now. Don’t tell me that we both won’t sacrifice our ‘sisterly bonds’ for the President in a heartbeat if it comes to it. And I’m not even talking about Alex. This job has consumed both of us, and we both are smart enough to know that this is bigger than any familial ties.

“But I’m still so proud of you, Betsey.” Eliza smiled discreetly at the use of the childhood name. “You have no idea how proud I am when I see you lead our departments in the White House, how proud I am to see how you grew up to be the strong woman you are now, with all the hardships you had to go through. You may not see it, but I still love you as your sister even if our jobs don't exactly warrant it.”

Eliza’s heart fluttered at the seriousness in her sister’s tone and face, knowing that it was genuine. She tried to muster a smile even while a blush crept up her face, not used to hearing Angelica proclaim love in such blunt phrases. “Well,” she cleared her throat. “Thank you. And I love you too.”

Angelica snorted, stirring her coffee. “Not expecting deep stuff to spew out of my mouth, do you? Told you, coffee is the shit.” A small smile was present on her face.

Eliza rolled her eyes even as her shoulder relaxed more at the usual banter. This is familiar territory. “Just so you know, I’d still sell you over to Russia if that’s what it takes to find who bombed the Capitol.”

“Oh please,” her sister rolled her eyes. “We both know who’s the more valuable one here.”

Alex’s eyes fluttered close as he let the soothing lilt of Aaron’s voice wash over him. A strange sense of comfort engulfed him, even if there was nothing comforting about the past three days, if Aaron’s report was accurate. He was great at running the country in his absentia, though, and Alex felt a strange bloom of pride in his chest after seeing his administration’s capability to handle itself.

It was a weird choice for Aaron to immediately brief him on state matter’s mere hours after he was actually fully conscious for more than a few minutes at a time, but Alex welcomed the distraction, and he thinks Aaron actually _missed_ him. Aaron denied when Alex spoke of it of course. But afterwards his ears turned red as he hastily took out his briefing file, and Alex was flattered.

At the beginning of a twinge behind his back, Alex wiggled to prop himself higher against the headboard. He moved too hastily however, because the movement caused his stitches on his torso to tug at his skin, and he yelped. His hand flew to his side as Aaron’s sentence was interrupted, mouth turning into a concerned frown.

“Don’t move,” his chief of staff ordered, reaching behind Alex to adjust his pillow. Alex did not even refute, squeezing his eyes shut to will the pulsing of his wound away even if his cheeks burn in humiliation. Aaron was efficient, though, and soon he was lying fully on his back. He even fussed over him, tucking the blanket carefully under his slinged arm before patting it gently.

But the universe clearly held a grudge on him, because at that moment Angelica and Eliza chose to walk through the door, and the former’s eyebrow shot up at the sight.

“Aww, you guys are so cute,” Angelica grinned, hitting the jackpot. “I knew that there is compassion in that cold dead heart of Aaron Burr somewhere.”

Alex squeezed his eyes shut and groaned in embarrassment as Angelica wiggled her eyebrows, and Eliza let out light tinkles of amused laughter. Aaron huffed an annoyed breath, muttering, “The only thing that’s cold and dead is your body when they find you in a ditch tomorrow.”

“Welp, there you have it guys,” Angelica strided with reassured steps, plopping a paper bag on the retractable tray at the foot of his bed. “If I’m found dead tomorrow, you know who it is.”

“You two just can’t be in the same room together,” Eliza exasperated, before making a trail to his side. “Hey,” she grinned, pecking him squarely on the lips. “Nice to see you awake.”

“Hi to you too,” Alex smiled, eyes crinkling. It was his first time actually being sober after the shooting and he couldn’t help to feel his heart clench when Eliza looked at him with clear relief and adoration. He shifted his gaze to the paper bag. “What did you get me?”

“Pastries,” Angelica interjected, taking out the content of the paper bag. “Here, chicken and mushroom pie.” She waved the pie in front of him, and his stomach decided to grumble loudly as if on cue, much to his chagrin. Alex rolled his eyes at himself as the trio surrounding him laughed.

“Thanks,” he curtly replied and Angelica snickered, taking a seat by his legs. He digged into the pie, making happy noises at the prospect of not having to eat the bland hospital food left forgotten at the nearby table. One could be the President and still be subject to healthy and saltless hospital food. Aaron settled back into his seat and continued where they left off, a report about troops’ movement in Asia.

“Wait,” Angelica suddenly exclaimed when Aaron recited the topic. She sat upright, forcing them to shift their attention away from Aaron. His chief of staff glared at her in annoyance.

Eliza tilted her head to her. “What?”

Angelica’s expression turned mischievous as she addressed Alex. “Have Aaron told you about that time Jefferson met the President of Korea?”

“Oh my God.” At that simple mention, both Eliza and Aaron groaned in tandem, with the latter squeezing his eyes shut. Alex scrunched his nose in confusion as Angelica snickered, being the only one oblivious.

“Wait what? When?”

“Remember how you were supposed to meet with the South Korean President the day after the Capitol reopens?” Eliza started. Aaron scoffed audibly, his thumb and forefinger were already massaging his temples as though in great distress. When Alex looked confused, she recalled, “For the troops movement?”

The last few weeks was madness for all of them, and admittedly the visit was far buried at the back of his mind. “...Uh, yes?” Did Jefferson fuck something up? His heartbeat spiked up immediately, the machine beeping faster when it picked up the change. “Oh shit, he fucked something up, didn’t he?”

“Yeah he did, though luckily for him, I was not there,” Eliza sighed. Aaron cursed the vice president quite colourfully under his breath and raised up from his seat, scowling. Alex frowned. Did he mess up that badly?

Angelica snickered again at Aaron’s retreating form, before sobering up quickly and replacing Aaron’s seat closer to Alex, an eager grin on her face. She leaned forward. “Okay, so. Our kitchens prepared the state dinner’s menu days before the actual visit, complete with delicious and yummy Korean dishes for the South Korean delegation. Which we all, of course, unfortunately missed out on because you decided to get shot.” She rolled her eyes as though greatly troubled by it.

Alex curled his lips in offense, bringing a hand to his chest. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“It’s okay, I forgive you,” she waved her hand dismissively. Alex looked at Eliza for backup, who just shook her head with her eyes twinkling in amusement. “So, the Korean President didn’t come because Jefferson decided to just have a teleconference with them, since during then we were still doubtful of your...”

She trailed off, and Alex hummed understandingly. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, he arranged so that they would have lunch together virtually because honestly, food should not be wasted—”

Alex scrunched his nose, interrupting, “What kind of heathen suggested we have lunch together through a video _conference_?”

“Jefferson, of course,” she clipped back, annoyed. “Stop interrupting me. It was all good and dandy, before _Jefferson_ , that bastard _Thomas fucking Jefferson_ held up a kimbap to the camera, in front of the President of South _fucking_ Korea’s face, stated loud and proud, and I quote—” Angelica cleared her throat, doing her best imitation of Thomas’s southern drawl, “—‘This _sushi_ is absolutely divine. The Japanese cuisine has never failed to delight me.’”

A loud and brassy laugh erupted from Alex’s mouth, and he closed his eyes as he repeatedly slapped his thigh. Eliza dropped her head into her palms, muttering a dejected “God help us all.” Alex’s whole body racked with laughter while he struggled to take a breath before he choked and snorted loudly like a pig. Angelica smiled smugly.

“Oh my—he’s so _stupid_ ,” Alex managed to let out between bouts of laughter, “And what did the President say?” He asked, small giggles still escaping.

“You should see his face, Alex,” Angelica grinned, sighing dreamily. “Ah, so much horror and offense and disgust all in one expression. The President’s face was so red but you could clearly see that he was trying not to be angry,” she chuckled at the memory. “Gosh, the look on Jefferson’s face when the President of South Korea corrected him is worth all the shit I had to go through to clean up his mess.”

Eliza rolled her eyes, clearly not amused. “I’d kill him if I could. And Aaron was _pissed_. God, how could he mess up the _one thing_ that he had to do?”

Alex grinned wide, raising his eyebrows smugly. “Told you I’m better than Jefferson at being the President.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. This is going on my list of funny controversies by POTUSs,” Angelica cackled. “No President could ever top this.”

Aaron perked up from the other side of the room, “So we’re all just gonna forget that H.W. Bush threw up on the Japanese Prime Minister?”2

Alex joined the two sisters as they groaned, feeling the second hand embarrassment seeping even to his bones. Alex shivered. “Dear God, I hope I won’t fuck up that bad anytime soon.”

“No need to think about that now,” Eliza said. She nudged the pie abandoned on his lap. “Eat.”

He finished his meal diligently, painfully aware of how hungry he had been. The two sisters gladly took over Aaron’s job and briefed him on the happenings of the past two days as he scraped off the remains of the chicken pie. He was pleasantly surprised at how smoothly things had been considering the absence of even a proper government, and Angelica had nudged at Eliza with a wink, sending his partner blushing and swatting at her sister.

He felt no small amount of pride for Eliza, for helping the country that was left behind at his wake. Even Alex blushed furiously when he heard that his senior staff took turns at his bedside in case he woke up. John too, even if he was busy with his own stuff. When he voiced all of this, his three friends just brushed it all off.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Angelica waved off his hesitant offering of gratitude. Eliza smiled at him in adoration, leaning forward to brush his hair off his face and pecked him on the nose as Angelica faked a gagging motion behind them.

“It’s nothing, really,” Eliza muttered. “It’s all we could do for you.”

“Still,” Alex frowned. “You all actually care about me, even if I’m being a shit President.”

“Actually, we hate you. We’re only here for the connections and favours,” Aaron deadpanned from the other side of the room. Alex let out an indignant squawk, and Aaron rolled his eyes. “Of course we care about you. If not we’d already leave you scrambling in the White House alone and the whole country would probably be upside down.”

“Oh wow, Alex. You managed to make Aaron Burr have _feelings_ ,” Angelica smirked. In a rare display of bitterness, Aaron flipped her off.

“Come on, I’m not that helpless without you guys,” Alex pouted in petulance, narrowing his eyes.

Eliza laughed softly, pecking his lips. “No offence, honey, but the whole country is probably on fire by now without us.”

-·=»‡«=·-

The West Wing, especially the bullpens were as busy as ever, perhaps even more as most of the senior staff were absent, accompanying the President at the GWU, leaving all the other staffers a little disorganised. And Jefferson was still in charge, letting an uneasy air hang upon them. He’s not bad per se, but he doesn’t exactly have Alexander’s assuring bravado and familiarity around the halls. Not to mention he’s a rare Republican in a sea of liberals and Democrats. And if the interns were a bit skittish and the staff that overseed them were much more snappy with their orders, John is none the wiser.

So when he walked into his own department’s office, it was safe to say that it was a bit haywire. Barely conscious staff with coffee in their hands were bumping into each other, interns looking helpless with stacks of papers and files they probably don’t understand.

The national security department is the smallest among their neighbours because their job is to just _advise_ the president, but they are very much proud of their work. It is John’s baby, he would declare on normal days.

Too bad he didn’t feel like it today when he saw a man crash straight into a glass door without opening it.

A group of staffers were squabbling in the corner, looking pretty heated over a piece of paper John recognised as Russian intel. He approached the group, but seeing as they did not notice him, he went about to greet them.

He did not see the flailing hand coming into his vision, however, not until it’s too late. A firm _smack_ to his face made him regret coming there immediately, and his face was burning from the impact.

“Oh, crap—sorry, John,” the owner of said hand, Nate, hastily apologised as John squeezed his eyes shut, and the group scrambled when they realised who it was. John winced as he rubbed his forehead, certain that it was as red as Wyoming on election night.

“It’s okay—no, sit down,” he waved his hand, sighing exasperatedly and in no mood of humouring these ridiculous staffers. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. They all plopped back one by one in their circle formed by wheely chairs, looking up at him innocently like schoolchildren anticipating a story. John sighed. “I actually wanted to see Nate.”

The man in question perked up, clearly surprised by the request. He nodded, once, excusing himself from the circle before joining John who was growing more restless from where he was waiting by the hallway.

“Is there something wrong?”

John did not answer.

Up they went and into the main floor of the West Wing, turning left after two landings. Past the ostentatious bust Jefferson has of himself in the hallway and into the nook of the national security advisor’s office.

Tallmadge, already waiting in his desk, was drumming his fingers together, eyes coolly following Nate’s fumbling movements as he took a seat in front of them. John opted to stand next to the agent, pursing his lips.

“Uh, so,” Nate started, smiling nervously after a few moments of silence passed. “I’m here.”

It’s more a question than a statement. John quirked his lips when Tallmadge threw a couple of photos on the desk. Nate’s eyes widened when he saw that he was the subject of those photographs, clearly catching sneaking inside the Oval Office.

“Why did you plant bugs in the President’s office?”

“Well, I—” The man stammered at John’s sudden question, not even giving him time to regroup himself. “I’m not—I went there because—uh, I’m getting jailed, won’t I?”

When both of them merely stared at the man, his shoulders slumped in defeat, basically conforming their allegations. Still, John clenched his jaw, eyes narrowed. “So? Are you gonna answer or not?”

“No—it’s André, okay?” Nate flailed his hand, squeezing his eyes shut. He sighed dejectedly, shaking his head to himself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I swear I have nothing personal on the President, I’m friends with him!” He hastily pointed out. John was not impressed. The man sighed again, ”Well, I did it because...”

“Because?” Tallmadge prompted when he trailed off, gathering back the photographs and handing it to John. John took it, slipping it into an envelope before pocketing it into his suit jacket.

Their suspect pressed his lips as though to hold the words back, but it opened eventually to say, “You know how I was stationed at Afghan?”

John’s brows furrowed. He didn’t know that. “You were in the military?”

“Yeah,” Nate fiddled with his fingers. “And, well, I met André there.”

John grabbed a chair. Nathan continued, “And uh, he has always been anti government, I suppose. Being a veteran is hard, you know? Low wages after being discharged. Paying for his wife’s and kid’s healthcare. He always said that the government never made an effort to actually help. His words, not mine. The guy probably has PTSD after _Herat_ too. Nightmares. I know I do.”

“You were there?” Tallmadge quirked an eyebrow. “The bombing?”

“ _I_ saved him,” Nate pressed before his face cinched in almost a scowl. His eyes seemed to see nothing as he muttered under his breath, “That’s a bad choice.”

“Do you know that you could be convicted just by having relations with him while being a White House employee?” John asked. Nate’s eyes went wide, and he shook his head urgently.

“No, no! I cut off from him the moment I apply for this job, I swear! I was happy with this job, still am. But I didn’t know that he joined you bunch,” he cocked his head at Tallmadge. “He left me alone, for the most part. I thought that he gave you guys a second chance because of how close he seemed to George Washington. But a few weeks before the State of the Union though…”

“What is it?”

“He came down to see me for the first time in _years_ ,” Nate recalled, scratching his chin. “He asked for the Capitol’s blueprint.”

 _Bingo_. “And you gave it to him?”

“I mean, what am I supposed to do? Refuse?” He shot back. “And Washington trusts him, and I trust the General. Besides, you guys ask us for favours all the time.”

“Didn’t it ever occured to you that he would’ve asked the President’s _national security advisor_ instead of a lowly staff?” Tallmadge leaned in his seat.

Nate frowned, lips parting. “Oh. Yeah. You’re kinda right.”

John groaned, getting on his feet. _Stupid._ “Oh my God.”

Tallmadge hummed calmly. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Hale.” The agent stood up, joining John.

Nate looked up to the both of them with doe eyes, questioning. John scoffed, “You can go.” When Nate blinked dumbly, John snapped. “ _Now_.”

“Oh, I thought I’m getting arrested?” Nate jumped out of his seat, hope sparkling in his eyes. John pursed his lips, and Nate stammered, “I mean, understandably, just—”

“You’ll be staying here until this case is solved,” Tallmadge saved the man’s thin ass, and John huffed. As much as he wants to kick him out, they can’t give any suspicion to any potential mole in the White House, and a sudden firing of a staff would alert them.

“Oh, okay,” Nate replied dumbly.

A beat. John rolled his eyes, flicking his forefinger towards the door. “Go. Skedaddle.”

“I thought I’m supposed to stay here…?”

“I really want to hit you right now.”

Nate scurried out, kicking dust.

“Hey?” John called out uncertainly when he arrived at an empty room, save for the sleeping figure on the bed. He looked left and right, orange light from the setting sun being the only source of light in the large room. They must’ve gone back to the White House sometime after noon.

“John?”

John startled slightly. The figure was not as asleep as he thought, and currently was trying to prop himself up on the headboard. “Woah, woah,” John rushed to the bedside. “Stop it.”

John halted his movements with a palm to his chest, forcing Alex to lie back down. Alex frowned. “Where did you go the whole day?” He asked, almost whining in his voice. “I was waiting for you.”

“Business,” John replied simply while he spotted a chair and dragged it to Alex’s side. Alex looked on with wide eyes as he settled in, waiting for further explanations. John absent-mindedly took Alex’s cold hand, warming it between his fingers. “We found the mole in the White House, and he—”

Alex perked up in interest. “Who is it?”

“I’m getting to it,” John smirked at his impatience before sobering up immediately. “You’ll not like this. And try not to shout.” He paused for the dramatic effect, “Nathan Hale.”

“What?!” Alex shot out of his bed, spluttering. “Holy crap, he’s—”

“I told you not to shout,” John hissed, frantically trying to coax him back into bed. “Don’t move too much, for goodness’ sake.”

Alex did not heed his warning, to John’s dismay, instead hauling his legs over the edge, outrageously asking, “What did he do? Give our intel? Is he the one that planted the bug in the Oval?”

“ _Jesus,_ Alexander,” John yelled while Alex grunted as he sat on the edge of the bed. John’s hands fluttered around, trying to mind his wounds while also supporting him up. “Calm down. You’re going to rip a stitch.”

Alex, apparently, did not care if he’s going to pull a wound, arching an eyebrow at John. “Well? Are you going to tell me?”

John realised that Alex’s not going to budge as long as he doesn’t know the whole story, and he rolled his eyes. Alex replied with a scowl. John sighed before he explained everything as fast as he could just so Alex’s stubborn ass would lie back down on the bed, telling him of Nate’s involvement long before the actual bombing of the Capitol, and well until he planted a bug in the Oval Office. He mentioned Nate's military history alongside André, too, before Alex butted in.

“So, they were friends?”

“I guess?” John furrowed his brows. “They were in the same squad. Like us, I guess.”

“Like us,” Alex muttered under his breath. John hummed. “Where were they stationed? Kabul?”

“Herat,” John corrected. “Hence, the bomb.”

“Hence, the bomb,” Alex nodded. John hummed again, looking down at his clasped hands on his lap. It was silent after that, John not knowing what to say next. It was before Alex suddenly opted to break into snickers, and he looked up, confused when he found that Alex was looking at him.

“What?” John asked. When Alex didn’t answer, he pressed, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Alex said with a sly smile. “You’re making that face.”

“What face?”

“ _That_ face. The one when you’re serious about something and you look like you’re gonna punch stuff.”

“I’m always serious,” John grumbled. “And I don’t _punch_ stuff.” Alex snickered again, this time open and loud, and _so familiar_. John felt himself soften involuntarily and he smiled weakly. “Shut up. Now lie back down,” he ordered, pulling a faux stern face, earning him another laugh.

“Alright, alright,” Alex rolled his eyes but still moved to obey his order. “Geez, so bossy.”

“Says the boss,” John shot back good-humouredly. He gently held Alex and eased him back on the bed, much to Alex’s protest as he huffed and puffed at being helped. John just flicked his forehead while he adjusted the pillow.

“Ow,” Alex groaned, rubbing his forehead.

“Just accept the help, Alex,” John said, frustrated. Alex bitterly grumbled some more as he begrudgingly settled among the pillows. John sighed, and before he could stop himself, to his horror, he blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

Alex snapped his head towards him, and John felt his face burn. It was a few awkward seconds of Alex staring at him before he cautiously replied too slowly, “It’s nothing. I was being a whiny bitch.”

“No, no,” John groaned out, letting his head fall into his hands. He muttered a little prayer before sighing, hiding behind his hands. It was now or never. “I mean, I’m sorry for what I said that night when we blew up the warehouse. It was insensitive for me to say that, especially in front of the White House staff. I was stressed, but it was still no excuse. Angelica, Eliza, and even Aaron lectured me about that. Not that I don’t deserve it! But trust me that even without their help I would have come to the same conclusion that I am thus, an ass.”

John peeked out from between his fingers when the only reply he received was silence. His heart plummeted into his stomach when he saw Alex‘s blank face staring back. Groaning in embarrassment, he steeled himself for what would certainly be upcoming disgust and hurt that Alex would hurl at him.

Suddenly, a large grin emerged on Alex’s face. “So you don’t think that I’m a whiny bitch?”

A confused splutter tore itself from John’s mouth. “I—what?” When Alex laughed again, clearly loving his reaction, John yelled, “Alex, I’m serious!”

Laughter was still spilling out of him like a dam, and John groaned again, pulling his feet up onto the chair and burying his head in his knees. “I should’ve never said that,” John moaned.

Alex replied with a cheerful giggle. “No. That was awesome,” Alex said. “Who knew you could give a speech like that?”

“ _Oh my God_.”

“It’s okay, John,” Alex smiled, letting a hand rest on John’s shoulder. “That was cute.”

John shrugged off his hand. “But I really am sorry.” John knows he was pushing it here, but he still said, “Especially when I know what happened after that night. I’m so sorry, Alex. When I find André I’ll—”

“Don’t,” Alex intercepted, and that was when he realised he’d gone too far. Alex’s face did not show anger though, but John could still see the discomfort in his features. “Don’t apologise for things that are not your fault.”

“Alex—”

“There’s nothing you could do now anyway,” Alex pointed out, letting his eyes flutter close. He sighed. “André does that to distract me from the actual, bigger problems. It has nothing to do with you. And sadly he succeeded. I was distracted from actual issues and I just spent days moping around the White House without noticing a terrorist right under my nose.” Alex scowled bitterly, though his eyes were still shut. “That son of a bitch.”

He folded his arms. “Still. You’re my best friend. I should’ve been there for you.” John nibbled his lip. “At least beat him up a little.”

Alex cracked an eye open, and grinned. “O, my knight in shining armor,” he teased, and John gave him an unimpressed stare. Alex laughed brightly again, waving a hand at him. “Fine, fine. I accept your apology.”

John let out a breath of relief, a heavy burden lifted from his shoulders. When he looked back at Alex however, he found the latter staring at him with mischief glimmering behind his eyes. John raised an eyebrow in silent enquiry.

“So?” Alex asked.

“So what?”

“Am I a whiny bitch?”

John laughed aloud at the sudden question, a smile stretching naturally without force. “No Alex, you’re not a whiny bitch.”

“Glad to hear it,” Alex replied with clear relief and giddiness directed at John. “You know that the people on the Hill used to call me a whiny bitch?”

“I know. You’ve been complaining about it since day one.” A beat. “Well, come to think of it, they’re not that far off.”

“Laurens!”

John snickered again before noticing the darkness that has fallen over the room. The room has dimmed considerably since he entered, nighttime creeping up on them. “It’s getting dark.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice,” Alex remarked with clear sarcasm.

John snorted. “Tone down the sass, Mr. President. Too much. Can’t handle.”

“Are you staying?” Alex asked suddenly, hopeful.

John shrugged, a little touched and flattered at the request. “Yeah, sure. But isn’t Eliza staying?”

“I sent her home. Didn’t wanna bother her more,” Alex mumbled. John opened his mouth to retort at the statement because _you just got shot, Alex, you’re not bothering anyone_. But Alex beat him to it, cheekily saying, “Besides, the last time we slept together was during Washington’s campaign trail.”

“How flattered I am to know that you relish in my company.” John smiled, but he still teased, “But I already stayed here overnight _yesterday_.”

Alex snorted. “Yeah, dummy, but I wasn’t really conscious enough to appreciate it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The nozzles that Lyndon Johnson installed in this shower was apparently so powerful that later Richard Nixon claimed it nearly flung him out of the stall. Back  
> 2\. In 1992, President George H. W. Bush began a trip to Asia and the Pacific to discuss economic relations and policies representing the end of the Cold War. Bush attended a state banquet hosted by the Japanese Prime Minister, Kiichi Miyazawa at where he was scheduled to give remarks. Instead, he fainted in his chair between the second and third course of the dinner, and vomited in the lap of the Prime Minister. First Lady Barbara Bush rushed to her husband and replaced him and gave a speech later that evening.  
> He was reported to suffer intestinal flu, but even then, the media had a field day. In Japan, the incident caused waves of jokes and international ridicule. Even coining the term Busshu-suru, which literally means ‘to do the Bush thing’. Back
> 
> The only thing worse than my knowledge of a foreign country’s politics and governments is my knowledge of a foreign country’s military. (In which I terribly apologise. Please, if you have additional knowledge and/or corrections for my writing please do comment or email me personally. I strive for close accuracy.)
> 
> Guess who finished their finals? It’s ya girl right here (yay). I would love to hear your theories, especially in this prime time of the fic. Tell me who you think is the culprit, and ones with the correct answer will receive a thousand (virtual, no close contact) hugs. Although I think I’m doing a poor job concealing them. But oh well, the suspense, amirite?
> 
> Oh, also, happy new year! 🎉🎉 May the new year be better for all of us, though it will be very hard for 2021 to surpass its predecessor in terms of general bullshit-ery. The bar has been set on the ground, and lets hope the new year doesn’t whip out its pickaxe and start digging.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [a legacy to protect](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27538093) by [cauli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cauli/pseuds/cauli)




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